


Unbreak My Heart

by Blue_Night



Series: The Adventures of the Roman Legatus Marcus Retus and his Friends [2]
Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Rome
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fights, Gladiators, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3752398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Night/pseuds/Blue_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an 'What If'-reality telling what might have happened if Marcus Retus would never have traveled to ancient Germania and never met Erik. Maybe, he would have been a legatus and served in Syria, meeting Auba there.<br/>My alternate Marcus Retus now lives in Rome, being the right hand of the emperor Tiberius. He watches the gladiator fights with Tiberius one sunny afternoon in the Circus Maximus and there, they meet again. Auba is a gladiator now and has to fight for his life. Will Marcus be able to save him? And what will he do if he will be forced to choose between his emperor and an unimportant gladiator?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gladiator Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoForGoals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoForGoals/gifts).



> Dear GoForGoals, I'm so so sorry that I forgot your birthday yesterday! I hope that this fic will make up for it. You love Marco and Auba and you love my Rome story that much. This Rome-story is entirely for you! 
> 
> I have to admit that the first chapter is rather gory because of the gladiator's fight, but this is the Roman way of life and I do hope that you will like it. There will be passionate sex, as well, I promise you. :-) 
> 
> My dear audience, enjoy reading it and please, let me know if you like it, leave kudos and comments, because feedback is love and the author's reward. :-)  
> 'Unbreak my heart' is a song from Tony Braxton, I thought I would keep the tradition of using song titles (even though the first one was not on purpose).
> 
> Marco Reus: Marcus Retus, a young Roman legatus
> 
> Pierre-Emerick Aubamayang: Auba, a young Syrian prince and gladiator
> 
> Rufus, the slave: Marcus' personal slave, an original character from my first Rome story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus followed Tiberius' invitation to join him in the Circus Maximus for watching the gladiator fights. There, he sees someone from his past again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how many chapters this fic will have, not as many as my first Roman story, but I'll go with my muse and inspiration.  
> Enjoy reading about Marcus and Auba's first meeting in Rome and please, give me feedback! :-)

Marcus Retus watched the excited masses filling the Circus Maximus to the very last seat suppressing a deep sigh.

This was one of the few occasions where he wished he were somewhere else far far away from his beloved city of Rome, but he hadn't had any other choice than to follow his emperor's personal invitation to join him in his lodge and watch the gladiator fights with him.

Marcus had seen more than enough fights and dismembered bodies in his life to really enjoy himself watching those poor men fight for their lives in the dust of the arena under a merciless burning sun. Most of them had been forced into their lives as gladiators by various circumstances and they had to slaughter each other for the Roman citizens' pleasure in order for the small possibility that they might be the one surviving the fight and gain some fame and maybe even their freedom some final day. There were only few men who had chosen this life freely.

But, Tiberius had wanted him to be his personal guest and Marcus was too clever to disobey his emperor's direct order even when it was 'wrapped' in a kind request. He looked around, an approving smile plastered on his handsome face, nodding briefly when he caught the eye of another prominent Roman citizen he knew, cringing inwardly as he heard the masses' shouts for the next fight.

He knew better than to judge them though, these events were what the Romans craved for, either bored with their own life when it was a life in luxury or grateful for the few hours they could forget their misery when their lives were hard and lacking the luxury other citizens enjoyed. Marcus also knew that a lot of former legionaries only came here to celebrate that they were still alive after twenty years of battles and blood, watching the gladiator fights was their way to cope with their own war experiences and nightmares.

Marcus Retus might be young, but he was neither innocent nor inexperienced when it came to war and battles, he had been the commander of a large legion in Syria before Tiberius had ordered him back to Rome to become a senator and his personal counselor.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Marcus?” the emperor's voice broke in on his musings and Marcus turned around on him to bow his head and smile at Tiberius.

“Of course, my emperor! How could I not? You were very kind and generous inviting me in your personal lodge. Your company is as inspiring and wonderful as always, the meal is delicious, the wine very drinkable and the fights are worthy enough to be watched at. I really couldn't ask for more!”

The lies slipped easily from his mouth – too easily for his liking. Marcus knew that his own life depended on those lies and he had reached true mastery in lying at the Roman emperor and maintain Tiberius' esteem and kindness. If it had been only for himself he wouldn't have bothered at all, but as things stood, he had a family to think of and a large household with slaves who trusted him with their well-being.

Tiberius returned the smile, delighted and sincerely. “It's my pleasure to have you by my side, my dear Marcus,” he assured him, his voice hoarse and with that special undertone Marcus had come to fear and hate. Until now, he had managed to ignore Tiberius' rather blatant invitations to come into his bed without offending the proud emperor, but he knew that it was only a matter of time until he would have to make a decision and just the thought of it made him feel sick to his stomach.

It was not that Tiberius was ugly or not nice to look at. Quite the opposite. He was an impressive man with sharp and very male features, attractive and interesting for many people Marcus knew. He was intelligent and attractive and he had always been kind and generous to him. The emperor wore a magnificent toga in white and red and every cell of his body and every hair lying neatly in its place showed that he was a true emperor born to rule the Roman empire.

It was only that Marcus could see behind this beautiful facade and he really didn't like what he could see there. He could see the barely hidden cruelty rising to the surface on such occasions when the older man watched the gladiators slaughtering one another for their ruler's pleasure with greedy and hungry eyes, licking his lips in blood thirst and arousal and it made him shiver with disgust.

Tiberius lifted his hand up to his face, stroking briefly over Marcus' well-shaved cheek. Rufus had shaved and dressed him before he had come to the Circus Maximus and he had done a great job as always. Marcus felt rather hot and sweaty in his heavy toga, wishing he would be at home dressed only in a light tunic instead of sitting here in the heat of the early afternoon under Rome's merciless sun but he knew that he was a stunning sight without being conceited.

He managed to not jerk his head away from the touch and Tiberius leaned in, whispering: “I have a gift for you today, my beautiful Marcus. Today, one of the gladiators will fight just for you. If he survives, you may have him and decide what will happen to him after wards. He once was a prince of his tribe and maybe, you have met him, back then when you fought in Syria. His tribe was one of the rebellious tribes and he was captured and brought to Rome to become a gladiator by your successor Gaius Antonius.”

Marcus fought hard to keep his face impassive as he whispered back with a faked smile that didn't reach his eyes. “I have to thank you for this honor then, my beloved emperor. I'm curious if this prince will stay alive, I can hardly remember any Syrian who might have left a lasting impression.”

This was another lie, because Marcus was pretty sure that he knew said prince Tiberius had talked about, and his heart screamed his name as he remembered the passionate nights he had spent with this special prince who had stolen his heart and whom he had had to leave to follow the Roman ruler's call: the Syrian prince Auba. It had broken his heart and Marcus had never met anyone comparable to this remarkable young man again.

And if Marcus was right with his suspicion, then Tiberius knew quite well what Auba once had meant to him. Tiberius delighted chuckle tickled his ear and Marcus smiled until his jaw hurt, staring blindly at the dusty arena soaked with the blood of the earlier fights. The emperor beside him leaned back in his comfortable seat, giving the sign for the next fight.

Marcus watched the two gladiators entering the arena and when they took up position to greet the emperor with the traditional greeting: _“Ave imperator, morituri te salutant!”_ , Marcus felt his blood freeze in his veins as one of them looked up at the lodge and straight into his eyes – Auba, his Syrian prince.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Auba eyed critically his equipment one last time. His adversary was a tall and broadly built Roman armed with a large and heavy club larded with deadly spikes and a large net, his tall figure covered with a metal armor, leaving only his upper legs and arms free. Cerberus had much more physical strength than Auba would ever have, but the young Syrian knew that he was rather slow in his movements and that his heavy armor would obstruct him in the end and wear him out. The sun would shine on his helmet and heat up his brain and force him to blink against the sweat dropping in his eyes the entire time during their fight.

Auba knew better than to fight trapped in an armor that would restrict his motions and with the sun boiling his brain underneath a metal helmet. He was naked apart from a small leathery loincloth, only his forearms and his shinbones were covered with protections made of thick leather.

The Syrian had carefully oiled his skin, first to protect his skin from sunburn and second to make it slippery and harder for his adversary to grasp him. His shoulder-long black curls were tied to a short ponytail at the nape of his neck and Auba had decided to fight with sword and shield. A small dagger stuck in the straps of his shinbone protection and Auba was pretty sure that his chance of survival against the other fighter was more than only fifty percent. He only needed to stay focused on the fight instead of listening to the mob and letting himself be distracted by the Roman emperor watching them. He had heard rumors that the ruler's favorite would watch the fight, too, the other gladiators had rolled their eyes in exaltation as they had mentioned the remarkable and beautiful Roman who had become the emperor's right hand in such a young age. Most likely, he had gotten himself the job by sleeping with Tiberius and the only feeling Auba had for such opportunists was contempt.

The horn called them to enter the arena and greet the emperor and Auba pushed all other thoughts into the back of his mind, concentrating on his fight. He followed Cerberus out of the dark tunnel leading to the rooms where the gladiators prepared themselves for their fights and into the bright sun bathing the blood-soaked sand of the arena in its red-golden light.

It was only as he took up position, shouting the traditional greeting towards the luxurious lodge where the Roman emperor Tiberius sat in his throne-like chair, when the young Roman sitting beside Tiberius caught his eye.

Auba would never have thought that he'd ever see him again, but there he was, staring down at him with an unreadable expression on his beautiful face: the young legatus Marcus Retus and for one long moment, time stood still as they looked deeply in each other's eyes.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

Tiberius waved his hand and the horn sounded again. Auba forced his eyes away from the blonde Roman, blending out everything else than the tall figure standing a few meters away from him, his eyes hard and his face grim. They might have been colleagues and maybe even something akin to friends during the weeks of preparation, but right now, they were enemies, ready to kill in order to survive. Auba moved to the side, hesitantly, letting his motion look as if he was scared and unsure to deceive not only the other gladiator, but also the spectators watching them with hungry eyes. He wasn't scared at all, he only strove to have the sun in his back and Cerberus' net out of his reach.

It wouldn't do any good if he needed to squeeze his eyes almost shut because of the bright light blinding him, and he needed to get a feeling for the way Cerberus would throw his net and use his club. Cerberus let out a low impatient growl and began to move forward, brandishing his heavy club as if it weighted nothing.

Auba bit back his grim smile. Good. Cerberus actually overestimated himself and underestimated him, Auba would have an easy job if the tall gladiator kept acting like this. He stepped back, giving his movements a tipsy note on purpose and lifting his shield as if he sought shelter behind it. The truth was that his metal shield now blinded the other gladiator, and Cerberus jumped forward blinking and waving with his net to throw it over his adversary.

Auba bent to the side, slipping away from underneath the lethal trap, while his arm holding the sword snapped forward, grazing Cerberus' uncovered thigh. Blood trickled down on the pale flesh coloring the yellow sand dark red and the Roman roared with fury and pain, raising his club.

He came closer again and they circled each other attentively for several minutes. Auba could see in the other one's eyes that he would be more careful with his second attack. This was okay with the Syrian prince, there was no honor in a fight where one of the fighters was much weaker than the other, easy to defeat. The mob sitting on the benches and chairs howled, yelling for blood and death, but Auba didn't listen to them, only vaguely aware of the loud noise bombarding his ears.

Cerberus limped a little bit, his blood still pouring from the large cut in his leg and Auba carefully stepped over the wet sand knowing that he would be dead the minute he slipped on the blood and fell down on the ground. The tall and broadly built figure in front of him was already covered in sweat and the sharp sting of fear, excitement and blood lust emanating from the other man overwhelmed the young Syrian's senses. He could smell his own scent, a mixture of the musky oil, fresh sweat and sun-kissed brown skin. Cerberus brandished his club over his head, throwing it in Auba's direction and the cold wind as the weapon grazed his hair formed goose-bumps on his naked arm and back. One of the sharp and long spikes grazed his cheek, leaving a long, red scratch there, but Auba welcomed it, the sharp sting of the small injury serving as a good reminder of the danger he found himself in keeping his eyes glued to his adversary instead of the blonde Roman sitting only a few meters away from him.

Auba could feel Marcus' eyes upon his back, these wonderful amber eyes that had looked at him with so much passion and tenderness so many times almost a lifetime ago.

Auba willed his thoughts away from the young legatus musing briefly if he should take the club, but decided against it. His arm would become tired very quickly and he wasn't familiar with clubs. Cerberus in the meantime had jumped to the side and for one moment, he was distracted by his club lying on the sand of the arena as he bent down to pick it up again.

Auba stood opposite him and he knew that he had to make a decision and this rather quickly. He jumped forward as if shot from a catapult and brandished his sword over his head. His weapon whirled through the air and then fell down like a heavy hammer, cutting through the metal of Cerberus' armor as if it was made of butter. Cerberus cried out as the blade penetrated into his abdomen and dark-red blood shot out of the heavy wound moistening the sand, leaving a large puddle of the gladiator's claret there.

Cerberus howled and roared, grabbing his club and stumbling forward, blind for anything else than attacking his enemy in his pain and fury. He swung his net and cut with his club wildly through the hot air, thick and heavy with the smell of blood any thousands of humans; and Auba jumped to the right and to the left with almost dancing steps, swaying his torso in some kind of morbid ballet.

The crowd screamed his name, ordering him to finish Cerberus and the young Syrian felt disgusted by their blood thirst. Cerberus was a brave man, he didn't deserve to die like this, he didn't deserve to be ridiculed and mocked by the degenerated Roman citizens. For the blink of an eye the handsome prince with the brown skin and the dark curls risked an eye in the direction of the emperor's lodge and to his surprise, neither Tiberius, nor Marcus let out a single sound, they only sat there, side by side, watching the fight with impassive masks on their faces. Only their eyes shone, Tiberius' in a dangerous greedy fever and Marcus' with a passionate, almost desperate spark, begging him silently to stay alive and end Cerberus' shame and pain quickly.

Auba nodded his head, a tiny movement to see only for the blonde legatus who knew him so well and turned around to Cerberus who was kneeling before him, one arm wrapped around his bleeding abdomen and the other one still brandishing his club in the weak attempt to injure the man looming over him.

“You were a good and a brave man, Cerberus. Die like a proud gladiator!” he whispered before he lifted his sword over his head for the final hit.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

Marcus hadn't realized that he had clenched his fists in his toga until the young Syrian turned around on the emperor, the tall gladiator lying dead before his feet. He flexed his fingers in the attempt to ease the pain from the hard grip, glad that the thick folds of his toga would hide the sweaty stains his fingers had left from Tiberius' eyes.

Auba stood there with his legs spread slightly, his smooth brown oily skin coated in his own sweat and Cerberus' blood, but with his head held up proud and self-confident. The Syrian prince had always reminded him of an elegant gazelle with his tall and slim body and the long limbs and he felt dizzy and sick with the relief that Auba – his Auba was alive and unharmed. He was so beautiful as he stood there waiting silently for the emperor's reaction to his insolence that he had killed the other gladiator without waiting for the ruler's permission. Marcus knew why he had done that. He had shown his respect for another brave fighter and spared him the disgrace of lying in the dust squirming and groaning as he died the painful death of slowly bleeding out.

Marcus heard the mob's shouts and screams one, part celebrating the beautiful prince for his victory, the other part yelling for him to be punished because he had impaled his adversary on his sword without waiting for permission.

Tiberius beside him remained silent and Marcus reluctantly turned his head to look at him. The ruler had promised him to let Marcus decide what would happen to Auba, but maybe, Tiberius had changed his mind. After all, he was the emperor and could do whatever he wanted to do without having to ask anybody else for permission.

He found Tiberius looking at him instead of the young gladiator with a strange expression in his eyes. When the ruler noticed Marcus's questioning look, he smiled. “I told you that he would be yours, my dear Marcus. It's yours to decide if he shall live or die for his insolence,” he said, his voice a mixture of mockery and sincerity. “You don't have to be afraid that I will punish you or bear a grudge against you if you want him to live.”

When Marcus did nothing than just looking at the him, Tiberius' voice became softer. “I know that you are a soldier, my dear Marcus. In your heart, you will always be a soldier and I know that you watched too many good men die a slow and painful death on the battlefield. I know why the Syrian did it. He honored him for a good fight and for being a brave warrior. I don't mind his behavior even though I probably should, but, I'm in a good and generous mood today. So show him if you want him to live or to die. We are all waiting just for your sign.”

Marcus swallowed audibly and his eyes darted away from the ruler's sharp features and back to the young gladiator standing in the middle of the arena with his shield and his sword, proud and undefeated. The crowd howled and screamed, waiting for their God-like ruler's decision, already greedy for the next fight to quench their blood thirst.

The screams coming out of one hundred and fifty thousand throats rose to an almost unbearable crescendo as Marcus slowly raised his hand with his thumb pointing at the sky.

Auba, the former Syrian prince and victorious gladiator would live.


	2. Lies And Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auba has won his fight and Marcus saved his life. What will happen to the former prince and gladiator now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear GoForGoals, here is another chapter of my special Rome-fic with your beloved Marcus Retus for you. I hope you will like it as much as the first one!  
> Dear readers, enjoy the new chapter of Roman Marco and Auba and please, let me know if you liked it, leave kudos and comments if you did! Feedback is love! :-)

Marcus Retus stood before the large window front, staring outside at the thick green bushes of the maze without really seeing something. The maze was the main attraction of emperor Tiberius' large beautiful park-like garden and Marcus knew that Tiberius spent there a lot of time with the poor creatures he had chosen to be his bed mates.

Emperor Tiberius had a particular liking for young men, hardly grown up and coming from a respectable, but impoverished family who thought that they could improve their status with serving Tiberius in bed. They were willing and came into the virile emperor's bed freely – at least most of them - but they were used and abused, nonetheless, and Marcus felt utterly disgusted by the actually beautiful sight of the large maze, knowing that a lot of these young men had learned there the hard way that serving and satisfying Tiberius was almost impossible.

A touch on his shoulder broke in on his musings and he could suppress his startled flinch only because of his well-trained soldier reflexes and instincts.

Marcus turned his head to look at the emperor who had stepped beside him, offering him a goblet filled with red wine. Tiberius' knuckles briefly grazed his own as Marcus took the offered goblet, sipping from the ruby-red liquid to hide his disgust and contempt for the older male. Tiberius cold gray eyes traveled over his face, their expression intense and heated and Marcus could smell the strong scent of his arousal emanating from him.

He didn't know why the emperor was so obsessed with him, because he was older than Tiberius' bed mates normally were, strong-willed and neither he himself, nor his family needed any improvement of their status. Marcus had powerful friends in the senate and he still had the fidelity of his legions, although he had been forced to become a politician instead of staying the soldier he was born to be. He also didn't have the dark curls Tiberius usually preferred and his eyes were of an astonishing greenish-amber-golden color and not dark-brown or deep blue like Tiberius' other bed mates had. Truth to be told, Auba the gladiator would have fit in in Tiberius' individual dating rules much better.

And yet Tiberius was determined to chase him down until Marcus would agree to share his bed and, as it seemed, Tiberius also wanted more from him than only a few casual encounters to satisfy his desire for him. Maybe, the emperor desired and wanted him that much because Marcus had resisted him until now. Marcus knew that he would have to make a clear statement that he wouldn't come into the older man's bed sooner rather than later, even though he risked a lot with that.

“What are you going to do with the Syrian gladiator, my dear Marcus?” Tiberius asked him, letting his voice drop to a dark purr vibrating deep in his throat, which he apparently considered as sounding sexy and seducing. Marcus suppressed another shiver of loathe only with effort. “He is all yours now.” It was clear what the emperor meant with that and Marcus could see that the thought of him raping an unwilling Auba aroused him, because the hand that had caressed his fingers only one minute ago wandered along his shining white toga, stroking over his crotch. The scent of male arousal had become stronger, too and Marcus breathed only flatly, because he wasn't sure if he could keep the wine and his former meal down if he inhaled this smell too deeply.

Marcus cursed inwardly, but he knew that he would have to answer the question and answer it in a way that would satisfy Tiberius' curiosity and his sick imagination.

“I will show him that he is nothing more than an unimportant slave, my emperor,” he said and his voice sounded calm and unmoved, due to the years he had spent on the battlefields where it was an essential necessity to hide one's true feelings. “He will be one of my house-slaves and I will teach him where his place is.”

Marcus could only hope that he had said enough and the Tiberius didn't expect him to go into further details because the delicious meal lying heavy like a stone in his stomach already threatened to make a reappearance, and there was no way that he would put himself to shame by emptying his stomach onto the shining marble tiles of Tiberius' personal living room.

To his luck, Tiberius was in a good mood and seemed to be content with Marcus' explanation, because he smiled at him with an approving nod of his head.

“I'm sure you will teach him properly, my dear Marcus,” he purred, stroking his hand again and Marcus could see that Tiberius' gray eyes were almost dark with his desire. “If you'll ever need any help by putting him in his place and – hm teach him thoroughly that he is nothing more than an unimportant slave to you, please let me know, I'm sure that I will be more than capable to help you with that. Plus, it would be my greatest pleasure to help you with that.”

_'I'm sure it would,'_ Marcus thought to himself, desperately searching for a way to leave this place before he made a fool of himself. Tiberius let go of his hand and became the serious emperor instead of the virile man who had tried to seduce him within the blink of an eye.

“There are some things that demand my immediate attention, my dear Marcus. Family business I unfortunately have to see to due to my emperor's duties. As much as I'd like to spend the rest of the day in your lovely company, but, I really have to say goodbye now. Please, enjoy the rest of your wine here in my personal rooms and don't feel obliged to leave any time soon. My guards know that you will stay here for some more time. Your new house-slave will be waiting for you by the time you'll get home, I saw to that. I expect you to come to me again tomorrow for the debate in the senate.”

Marcus bowed his head. “Of course, my emperor, as you wish,” he agreed and his knees suddenly felt like jelly because of his relief.

Tiberius considered him for one more minute, musingly and attentively before he turned around and left the room, his toga swinging around his strong legs.

Marcus watched him leave with his fingers clenched around the goblet that tightly that his knuckles turned white. When he was sure that Tiberius had gone and he was alone, he rushed to the emperor's private restroom lying next door to the living room, sacrificing the contents of his stomach to Jupiter and every Roman God or Goddess who might be inclined to listen to his silent prayers.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

 

Auba fought hard to keep his face impassive and unreadable although his guts clenched with fear. Not the fear of being attacked or hurt, but the fear of being humiliated and ridiculed even more than he already felt since he had seen Marcus Retus sitting in the emperor's lodge, smiling at Tiberius and letting the emperor touch him.

The former Syrian prince knew that he probably should be grateful and glad that the young Roman legatus had saved his life, but all he felt was betrayal, anger and despair. He had thought that he knew the Roman he had spent so many passionate nights with in his beautiful homeland Syria and the realization that the rumors about the legatus being Tiberius' favorite were true had broken his heart. How could it be that Marcus Retus, the honorable and respectable Roman soldier had let himself be corrupted by the nasty emperor that easily and quickly?

Did this happen to all brave Roman soldiers after their return to their beloved glorious city of Rome?

A fierce pull at the chain circling his neck made him cough and he hurried to obey and step beside the guard who had pulled at the metal chain. The other guard shot him a brief look and Auba could see something akin to sympathy in the young man's eyes. The guard was a warrior himself and obviously knew who he was and that he had defeated all of the other gladiators he had fought with. It was apparent that the guard disliked the orders he had to carry out and that he pitied the young gladiator for having become a slave after his victory.

Auba was aware of the fact that he had been a slave before, not free to make his own decisions, but being a gladiator held some kind of honor in it, being the personal slave of a corrupt politician who was supposed to satisfy his owner's lasciviousness was neither honorable nor anything else than shameful and horrible.

Even more because Auba remembered his wonderful nights with Marcus so clearly. They had made love so many times under the starry dark sky of Syria, lying on the warm sand under a large tree where they had listened to the soft rustling of the green leaves that moved in the warm and smooth wind and shared sweet kisses.

Auba forced his thoughts away from his memories that held so much joy and yet so much pain in them and let his eyes wander over the front of the large villa where his new owner lived. The other guard knocked against the closed door and it didn't take long until the door opened, revealing a young slave in a neat white tunic emerging in the doorway. The slave had dark-red hair and brown eyes and he had beautiful male features. His face showed a calm and friendly expression and Auba wondered briefly how it could be that a slave was so content and relaxed, obviously in peace with himself and his environment.

Auba had never met him before, but he knew immediately who this slave was, because Marcus had told him about this special slave whom he had saved several years ago when he had been nothing more than a young boy.

_'Saved'_. Auba snorted inwardly. The Roman had 'saved' a young boy from his misery only to put him into another kind of misery by being his personal slave. Auba rather die than being a slave. He had been a proud and free young man, a prince and he would never submit to being a slave, no matter how long it would take him to gain his freedom again.

The young slave seemed to have awaited them and Auba realized that Marcus or Tiberius himself most likely had sent a courier to the legatus' villa to announce the arrival of a new slave. The other guard who had knocked on the door handed Auba's chain to the young man with the red hair and said: “The great emperor Tiberius sent us here, because he was in a good and generous mood and gifted the legatus with this new slave. His name is Auba, as odd as this name might sound and he spent the last months in the catacombs of the Circus Maximus. He probably needs to be taught appropriate behavior.”

Auba flinched when he heard the older man ridiculing his name and talking about him as if he wasn't there and unconsciously balled his fists. The young man with the red hair and the very appropriate name Rufus took the chain and nodded his head. “Yes, I know. His arrival was announced by a courier earlier. The legatus hasn't come home yet, but I am his housekeeper and will see to all that's necessary.” His voice sounded firm and had a natural authority that impressed even the guards, because they only nodded their agreement and left Rufus and Auba to their own devices without looking back as they turned around and headed along the road back to the emperor's palace.

Rufus watched them leave with a thoughtful expression on his handsome face before focusing his attention on Auba who stood there stiff as a poker watching Rufus with narrowed eyes and a defiant expression.

“Hello Auba. I'm sure you want to wash away the dirt and the dust from your body, don't you?” he asked him with an inviting gesture of his hand that Auba should follow him into the cooler hall way of the villa. Auba had expected to be pulled in by his chain, but the young Celt waited patiently until Auba hesitantly moved, stepping into the house.

Rufus smiled understandingly at him and said: “I know that you are full of hate and mistrust. Everybody being in your place would feel the same. But I can assure you that no one in this house wants to harm you. Please, come with me. You need a bath, something to drink and to eat and a proper rest and you will get all of this. The legatus is a good master who treats his charges kindly and carefully. You have nothing to fear.”

He turned around and started off towards the back of the hall way and Auba followed him, taken aback by Rufus' friendly behavior. He couldn't do anything about his state at the moment and a bath, food and some rest sounded very tempting. Maybe, he could talk to Rufus and find out the things he needed to know for his escape-plan. Auba sighed as he walked behind the red-haired slave, the chain falling loosely enough that it could sway to the left and to the right between them. Marcus might be a 'kind' master - whatever that meant, but he was still the emperor's whore and Auba wasn't about to forget that.

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

When Marcus finally returned to his house, he felt as tired and depressed as he hadn't felt in a rather long time. The occurrences of the day played before his mind's eye again and again and he seemed to be unable to stop them. His emotions had almost overwhelmed him when he had seen Auba standing in the middle of the blood-soaked arena, dressed only with a short loincloth and all the memories he had hidden in the farthest corner of his mind had rushed to the surface again, hunting him during the entire fight.

Marcus had needed all of his strength and willpower to stay calm and keep the impassive mask firmly on his features, and Tiberius constant attempts to lure him into his bed had exhausted and disgusted him even more. The day had been horrible and had finally culminated in him becoming violently sick and retching into the emperor's private water-toilet again and again for more than half an hour.

Now, his stomach was completely empty and still cramping now and then, and his head ached as if someone was sitting behind his forehead and thrumming with a hammer against his temples.

Marcus groaned with relief and pain as he closed the front door behind him, leaning against the dark and thick wood and closing his eyes. Silent footsteps announced the arrival of someone, but Marcus didn't bother to open his eyes because he knew the footsteps of all of his charges by heart and this could only be Antonia, the beautiful young slave he had saved from her former cruel master who had treated her badly and who had beat her just because she was deaf. Marcus had learned to sign and talked to the warmhearted and intelligent young woman with his hands. He knew that she could also read lips and so he only murmured without moving: “Antonia, please, I need some water.” His voice sounded strange to himself, raw and husky because of his violent retching earlier and when he heard the footsteps moving rapidly away, he knew that Antonia had noticed the state he was in instantly and hurried to bring him the requested water.

Marcus just kept standing there leaned against the cool wood with his eyes closed, breathing slow and even to ease the pain behind his temples.

Another minute passed and then, the footsteps came back and a soft hand touched his own, handing him a goblet filled with clear and cool water. Marcus took the goblet and swallowed the delicious liquid down with fast gulps, heaving a relieved sigh as the goblet was empty and the sore feeling in his throat finally became bearable. He handed the goblet back to the young woman standing beside him and finally opened his eyes, smiling weakly at her.

Antonia smiled back and signed with her hands and Marcus heaved another relieved sigh. “That would be great, Antonia. I really could do with a bath and you massaging my temples to ease the pain,” he said and signed back and Antonia beamed at him and turned around on her heels to guide him to the bathroom where Rufus had prepared everything for his bath. His housekeeper, personal slave and friend normally served him himself, but he had to stay with Auba at the moment and Antonia had served him oftentimes enough to know what she was expected to do.

Entering the bath, Marcus began to undress with hasty movements, wanting nothing more than to get rid of the heavy toga and its smell of Tiberius' heavy perfume and the dust and blood of the arena.

Antonia took his clothes and went out of sight with them while Marcus glided into the warm and fragrant water, closing his eyes in pure bliss. The water eased the pain in his muscles and he relaxed a little bit for the first time since Auba had walked into the arena. He must have dozen off because he startled awake as someone touched his shoulder, but he relaxed again when he realized that it was the young woman who had come back. Antonia knelt down behind him on the marble tiles of his bathroom and began to massage his temples and his forehead with clever and gentle fingers. Marcus didn't try to suppress or hide his blissful moans although he knew that Antonia could feel the vibrations of them underneath her fingers.

But, Marcus had never forced an unwilling partner into his bed, neither a free man or woman, nor a slave and he also wouldn't start with it anywhere in the future. Antonia knew that she had nothing to fear from him and would take his moans as what they were: the proof of his improving well-being and that his moans were not a sign of sexual arousal, but the sign that her massage to ease his headache did him a world of good. Apart from that, everyone with eyes in their heads looking at him would realize immediately that the young legatus wasn't in the state to perform any straining exercises in his bed at the moment.

He lost all tracks of time while he enjoyed the gentle massage and the warm water, Antonia's soft fingers and the safety of his home finally helping him to relax and easing the pain he felt in his head and his stomach. He even felt hungry after a while, although he had thought that he wouldn't be able to eat anything until the next day and he turned his head to look at Antonia.

Antonia let go of his temples after one last stroking circle and cocked her head questioningly to the side. “I would like to have something to eat, Antonia, something light, a soup and a slice of bread perhaps. Would you please see to that? I can help myself here,” he signed and Antonia eagerly nodded her head and stoop up in one single gracious move.

Marcus waited until she had exited the bathroom, before he left the pool and dried himself with the soft and warm towels Rufus had left on the heated bricks for him. Another towel hanging on a hook caught his attention and he crossed the room and took the still slightly damp towel to bury his nose in it. Marcus would always recognize the scent emanating from the towel: Auba's own and special unique scent Marcus had come to love so much. The scent he had inhaled like a drug when they had made love back then in Syria.

Marcus took one last deep breath and swallowed wistfully before he carefully hung the towel back on the hook. He dressed with a plain white tunic which was much more comfortable than the magnificent toga had been forced to wear during the day and he circled his shoulders and smiled, the first true smile within the last few hours. He put on his house sandals and smoothed his hair back before he left the bathroom to go to the living room where he also took his meals.

A good meal and a light wine would reawaken is spirits and then, it was finally the time to see Auba again, the Syrian prince who had become a gladiator and then his personal slave. The man who had stolen his heart a long time ago and who would hate him now, this much Marcus knew for sure.


	3. The Reencounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus came home from the emperor and prepares himself to see Auba again. Auba has eaten, bathed and slept and now has to face the man who was once his mate and is his master and his owner now. What will happen during their first encounter after their meeting in the arena?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear GoForGoals, this is my humble attempt to reward you for the wonderful piece of art you wrote for me. It isn't as fluffy or hot as I would have liked it to be, but this chapter is surely important for the plot and perhaps helps understanding Marcus' intentions and behavior and Auba's confused feelings without revealing too much.  
> I have to admit that I was really tempted to let it end at a special point when Marcus and Auba leave the living room after their conversation, but decided against it because it might have aroused false thoughts about the next happenings and the way the chapter ends now leaves hope for a sweet dream about their past in Syria.
> 
> I hope you will like it my dear and not feel disappointed because there is no action and romance, I promise you that this story will have romantic and hot moments, as well!

Auba hesitantly followed Rufus through the quiet villa, trying to ready himself for the next hours and his 'reunion' with the Roman he once had loved so much and whom he now hated with all his heart, because Marcus was in no way different from all the other hated Romans, even worse, he had betrayed him in the cruelest way possible by becoming the emperor's whore for more fame and power.  
Auba had bathed and eaten a light meal before Rufus had led him to a friendly and comfortable room where he could lay down and take a nap so he would be clean and well-rested before he had to appear before his new master.

_Auba had looked around before stepping into it, unsure what he should think of this room. It was clearly no chamber where slaves normally lived, because it had a window and was far too spacious and comfortable to be the room of a slave._

_The bed at one of the walls was a single bed, but with soft cushions and a cozy blanket and under the window was a table with two chairs with thick cushions upon them to make the sitting more comfortable. Papyri lay spread out over the table and at least three slates and it looked as if someone studied here, a lot. At the wall beside the bed with a small bedside table were three hooks with clothing hanging neatly on clothing hangers, several tunics, two woolen coats and even three rather splendid togas. A soft carpet covered the marble tiles, feeling soft underneath Auba's feet in the thin house sandals._

_It was a nice and inviting room and looked like what Auba would have considered as a guest room if it hadn't been for the clothing and the papyri and slates on the table. A wooden bowl with fresh fruits next to the slates provided the eager student with the needed food while studying hard, and the entire room emanated an atmosphere of being inhabited and well-used. As he turned his head, Auba could see two doors obviously leading to two other rooms and if his suspicion was right, then one of the doors led to a restroom where the person living here could see to his or her bodily needs without having to use the restroom near the large hall where he had been before and where the house staff and guests had to go to relieve themselves._

_“Uhm, I don't think that the person living here will be rather pleased if he or she finds me here sleeping in his or her room,” he had objected, wanting to step out of the chamber again. Rufus' soft chuckle close to his ear had made him flinch, startled._

_“It is my room, so I don't think that you'll have to worry about that, Auba,” the red-haired man had waved away his worries, gently forcing him to enter his personal oasis and closing the door behind them._

_Auba hadn't been able to believe his ears. “Your room?” he stammered. Since when slaves lived in such surroundings? Not to mention that Auba had expected Rufus having to sleep in the damn Roman legatus' bed, serving his sick needs every single night when the emperor was to busied with his duties or other whores to do it himself._

_“Yes, my room, Auba. I told you that my master is a kind master who treats his charges well. You of all people should know that, shouldn't you?” Marcus Retus' personal slave had told him off, but his voice was understanding and friendly, and Auba had blushed, not wanting to remember how good it had felt to lie in the blond Roman's arms and share kisses and sweet passion with him. He head expected Rufus to say more to this topic, but as kind and understanding the young Celt might be, his loyalty was all Marcus', and it was obvious that he wouldn't conspire with Auba and tell him things he wasn't supposed to tell without his master's permission. He had only pointed at the lounger Auba could see now that he had entered the room and the door was closed, knowing that the former Syrian prince and now gladiator would prefer to sleep on this piece of furniture instead of the Celt's own bed._

_Auba gratefully had lain down on it, barely noticing Rufus covering him with a light blanket before the slumber of exhaustion had claimed him._

And now, he was on his way to face Marcus for the first time since the Roman had left Syria, because their 'encounter' in the Circus Maximus really didn't count. The damn chain was still in place and Auba was pretty sure that it wouldn't be removed any time soon, but Rufus never pulled at it, only held it in his hands to avoid it dragging over the floor. Auba wasn't sure whether he did it because of him or the precious marble tiles, but it really didn't bother him, either. All that mattered was that he had to wear this chain around his neck and that he was now the slave and toy boy of the Roman he had thought that he loved him and that he had to serve him in his bed.

Rufus opened the door leading to another room from the hall and Auba straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin up in defiance as he saw the tall figure standing before the large window front, Marcus Retus. It was time to face his future torturer now.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

Auba didn't know what he had expected to see when Marcus slowly turned around to look at him, but certainly not a man who looked as exhausted and tired down to his bones as the proud Roman legatus looked right now, seemingly hardly managing to stay on his feet.

Marcus' eyes were bloodshot as if he hadn't slept in days, and his skin was pale and blotchy like the skin of people recovering from a bad disease. His hand absentmindedly reached for his throat as if it hurt him, and there were lines of pain on his face and around his pale lips pressed to a thin line.

Auba blinked with surprise, not sure what to make out of Marcus' appearance. His tunic was white and clean and his hair still a little bit damp, so at least he wouldn't have to endure the smell of sex and another male all over his former lover and now – owner – Auba couldn't help but spit out this word in his thoughts, but he hardly couldn't imagine the happenings in the emperor's bed that must be responsible for Marcus Retus' current state. Plus, he also really didn't want to imagine them, because he wasn't sure whether he would be able to keep his meal down or retch onto the blinking marble floor if he thought more closely about what had put the proud Roman into this state of exhaustion.

Auba had expected Marcus to be in a good mood and force him into his bed immediately, wanting to show him that he had the upper hand here in Rome and now, he was taken aback and felt pity and sympathy rising in his gut, unwanted and unbidden, but too strong to ignore it. When the silence stretched between them, he uncomfortably averted his eyes, looking around in the huge and splendid living and dining room.

On a small table before one of the various loungers in the room was a tray with the leftovers of a light meal, a bowl with soup, still half filled, and a slice of bread and Auba frowned, because Marcus surely could afford every meal he wanted to eat and this dinner looked like the dinner of a servant or a slave and not like the opulent dinner rich Romans normally enjoyed. His stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him of the fact that his own light meal had been hours ago and he blushed furiously by the embarrassing sound, glad that the rather dark light in the room and his own dark skin hid most of his blushing.

“Hello, Auba. I'm pleased to see that you are unharmed and look well-rested. Rufus took good care of you, but I didn't expect anything else. And please, if you're hungry, then feel free to eat the rest of my supper. It is not poisoned and I'm not hungry any more.” Auba blinked again, because Marcus' first words after their time in Syria and their long separation were so – so little pathetic and so warm and welcoming. They were the words one said to a long time missed appreciated relative or friend and not the words you welcomed your new toy boy and slave with. The young Syrian had steeled himself for mockery, hate, disgust, contempt, sarcasm, arrogance and sexual assaults or whatever the Roman would throw at him and not for a friendly and kind invitation to eat the deliciously smelling leftovers of his rather simple meal, and he almost stumbled back as he struggled for a proper answer.

He wouldn't give the hated man the satisfaction of admitting that he wanted to take up on this tempting offer and sate his hunger, no way. His stomach had other plans though, growling again and betraying his weak attempt to ignore the bowl and the bread lying on the tray and calling out for him. He shot a quick look at the blond to see if the sensitive mouth had curled into a mocking grin by the unmistakable evidence of his need to fill his stomach with something more essential than the water he had drunk before Rufus had led him to his new master.

Marcus smiled at him, a brief but beautiful smile that brought some sparkles back into his bloodshot eyes. “It is still rather warm, Auba. It would also be tasty when it has cooled down, but I highly recommend that you'll eat it as long as it is still warm enough to really enjoy it. It would be a shame to let it go to the waste. And I don't want my cook having to get up from his bed again to save the leftovers and prepare them so they will still be eatable tomorrow. He needs his sleep and I'm not comfortable with throwing good food in the trash bin. So please, do me the favor and eat the soup, Auba.”

Auba, who had opened his mouth to utter a mocking offense, snapped his mouth shut again, incapable of spitting out the nasty insult he had wanted to say, only nodding his head and hesitantly crossing the room until he reached the lounger. He had to watch out for the chain Rufus held in his hands and he was surprised that the red-haired Celt was still in the room, because Auba had forgotten him the second he had lain his eyes on the blond Roman standing before the window.

Marcus' hair had dried in the meantime and one soft strand had fallen into his forehead. Auba clenched his fist to suppress the sudden unwelcome urge to thread his fingers through the fragrant blond hair and push the strand out of his face while kissing the man he once had loved so much until the lines of pain had faded from his face.

He swallowed, dropping down on the lounger and taking the spoon, unable to look Marcus watching him musingly in his wonderful amber-golden eyes.

The shadow of a silent movement told him that Rufus was on his way to his adored master, handing him the other end of the chain before he left the room to give the Roman legatus and his new charge some privacy. No words were heard as Marcus took the chain from his personal slave, but Auba who kept his eyes firmly on the bowl with the soup was pretty sure that they didn't need to use spoken words for their communication. Rufus seemed to be one of those personal slaves knowing their masters by heart and always suspecting what they had to do to fulfill their unspoken orders and wishes before they had to express them. Once, there had been such an understanding between Marcus and he himself, too, but this had been before Marcus had left him to become the emperor's whore.

He waited until the door closed behind the young Celt before he dared to look up at Marcus who hadn't moved, only taken the chain from his slave, his hand clenched around the iron ring at the end that could be fastened to its counterpart on a stony wall or the chain of another slave or prisoner as if the blond feared that someone could spring through the window all of a sudden and grab the chain to take Auba away from him. Maybe, he did fear that, because the emperor was well-known for his sudden mood changes, even far away in Syria.

For a while, they simply stared at each other and Marcus' expression was nothing else than only attentive and thoughtful while Auba laid all the contempt, hate and disgust he could muster to feel for the other man in the look of his dark-brown eyes. He was pretty sure that the Roman could see it despite the rather dark light, but his own expression never changed while he waited for Auba to finally break the heavy silence stretching between them and say anything.

“You look like shit, Marcus. The emperor shouldn't strain you that much. You're supposed to play the role of his counselor during the debates in the senate and his meetings with his military staff, right? Tomorrow is such an important meeting if I remember correctly the words of the guards in the Circus Maximus. He should have thought of it before he wore you out that much.” His words sounded cruel even to himself, but he didn't flinch or blink as he stared defiantly and angrily at the man who had stolen his heart and broken it.

Marcus' hand came up to his throat again. Auba had noticed before that his warm and normally smooth voice sounded raw and hoarse like the voice of someone who had been sick or who had screamed too much for too long, and he shuddered slightly by the thought of what the emperor must have done to him to make Marcus scream like that. With him, he had moaned and gasped, panted softly and cried out his name in pleasure, but he had never had to scream that his throat had hurt after wards. Auba only knew people who had screamed that way because of the agonizing pain they had felt while being tortured or during a bloody battle, and he laid the spoon beside the bowl, suddenly not feeling hungry any longer. Marcus had always been the bravest soldier and the toughest man the Syrian had ever met and he knew for sure that the Roman would endure every torture silently without screaming.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I don't share the emperor's bed?” Marcus' husky voice broke in on his disturbing musings and he didn't sound angry or offended, only tired and questioningly.

Auba shook his head with vigor. “No, I wouldn't,” he said without having to think about it.

Tiberius was also known for never taking 'No' as an answer and it couldn't be that Marcus was his personal counselor without sleeping with him. Auba wasn't blind and he had well noticed the way the older man had looked at Marcus during the games. Tiberius was crazy for the blond legatus, Auba had almost tasted his strong desire for his young charge on his tongue, and it had made him furious. He was sure that Marcus didn't desire the emperor, but this made his betrayal even worse and more bitter.

Auba would have understood it if Marcus had fallen for the older, powerful and admittedly charismatic man, but he could neither understand that Marcus was willing to sell himself just for the dubious promise of more power than he had already had before his return to the empire's capital, nor that he was willing to endure what the cruel man obviously was doing to him without fighting back. Marcus had never occurred to him as a person becoming blinded by fame or ruthless power and he felt utterly disappointed that he had been so wrong about Marcus Retus, the man who had told him that he would always love him before his departure.

Marcus had promised him to come back to him, but he hadn't kept his promise and his successor had captured him, made him a prisoner and gifted Tiberius with a new gladiator soon after he had overtaken Marcus' position in Syria.

Marcus walked to another lounger, his steps as tired and slow as his whole appearance. He sat down on it with surprising elegance, nodding his head. “Yes, I thought so,” he only stated, not trying to defend himself or his actions. He just jerked his head in the direction of the bowl. Auba had eaten the bread and most of the soup, there was only a small puddle left at the bottom of the big bowl.

“Are you sated, Auba?” he asked and the Syrian couldn't hide the small flinch from the Roman the hoarseness of his voice pulled from him. Marcus smiled, but it was a sad and tired smile this time.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied reluctantly, unwilling to show any sign of gratefulness, but also unable to offend the other man further when he was that tired and weak.

“Good, then, we will go to bed now,” Marcus told him, swaying a little bit as he stood up again. Auba bit his lip as he got up at his own feet. The Roman's hand curled tightly around his chain reminded him painfully of the fact that he would have no say in where he would sleep and the determined expression in Marcus' eyes also told him that there would be no debate about it.

Auba would sleep in Marcus' bed, no matter whether he loathed just the mere thought of it or not, and he swallowed desperately because he felt sudden fear rising in his guts.

Auba hadn't felt any fear during his fight although he had known that he would be dead the moment he stumbled and Cerberus gained the upper hand, but now, he had to ball his own fists and take several deep breaths to keep himself from panicking.

“And where will I sleep? In your cellar?” he asked, even though he knew the answer to that question quite well.

Marcus looked at him, his face impassive and his eyes glowing in a dangerous light. Suddenly, he didn't look as weak and exhausted as he had looked only one minute ago any longer and his voice was firm and less hoarse and raw as he said in a flat tone, but with a barely hidden dangerous growl:

“You, Auba, the Syrian, you will sleep in my bed, of course. You are my slave and I will teach you where your place is. You'd better accept your new position fast and learn that you have to obey my orders without question or protest, because I will punish you if you don't. You are my slave, my property, and you will sleep in my bed until I decide otherwise.”

With these words, Marcus turned around, starting off towards the door, and Auba had no other choice than to follow him if he didn't want to be dragged along behind him because of the chain in the Roman's hand. His nails dug into his palm until he could feel it become wet with blood, and all he could think of was that the man he had loved had changed into someone he didn't know at all.

The former Marcus Retus he had known and loved a long time ago would never have raped anyone, but this man didn't exist any longer, and Auba wasn't so sure about the new Marcus Retus and his intentions. Would the new one really force himself upon him, no matter whether he was willing to share his bed or not? He had been so tired, but maybe, the thought of raping him had revived some of the Roman's spirits again, who could know that?

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

Auba followed the blond walking through the large corridors with firm steps trying to keep his fear at bay and when the finally reached a set of large quarters that were obviously Marcus' private rooms, his knees buckled and he had to lean against the wall for one moment.

Marcus fastened the iron ring of his chain to another iron ring on the wall and opened the door next to that ring, disappearing behind it. Auba took another deep breath, looking around in the dark room enlightened only by the moon shining through a small slit in the closed curtains. He knew that the chain was too short to reach the window and climb through it, but he hadn't really expect Marcus to be that dense and risk something like that. At the other side of the iron ring on the wall was a large and very comfortable bed, big enough for two people sleeping in it and he swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat, because he didn't feel only fear and disgust by the sight, but also longing and desire, as much as he wanted to ignore these unexpected feelings rising deep inside his abdomen. It had been so long since they had made love and Auba had never slept with anybody else ever since Marcus had left him.

The sound of the door opening again startled him, and he looked up just in time to see Marcus emerging in the door way. “You can use my restroom, Auba. The chain is long enough for you to use it, but, you have to leave the door open a little bit because of the chain.”

Of course, a slave wasn't supposed to have privacy while seeing to his or her bodily needs. Auba knew that there were a lot of Romans getting off by watching someone relieving themselves, he heard the whispers and rumors about such creepy preferences during his time in the Circus Maximus, but he hoped that Marcus hadn't developed such weird and disgusting likes since they had parted.

He pushed himself away from the wall and crossed the room on wobbly legs, closing the door to Marcus' private restroom as best as he could before he relieved himself and washed his hands and his face. When he was done, he considered himself in the small mirror hanging over the sink. He looked tired and wary, and his eyes were full of sorrow and fear, but this wouldn't change any time soon, considering his future as the slave of the man he had been equal to and whom he had loved so much.

Auba pressed his lips to a thin line and left the restroom, steeling himself for the sight of Marcus waiting for him in his bed, naked and with lust and greediness in his eyes.

The Syrian paused in the doorway, totally taken aback, because he hadn't expected the Roman lying curled up into a small ball under the blanket, still dressed in his tunic and already half asleep.

“What are you waiting for, Syrian? Have you never seen a tired man in a bed before? Come to bed!” Marcus murmured, opening his eyes only halfway.

Auba swallowed, hesitantly climbing onto the bed and laying down at the edge of the bed. His left arm hung over it, but he'd rather fall out of the bed than touch Marcus.

Marcus let out an annoyed sigh, pulling Auba close to his body until the Syrian's back was pressed against his tall frame. Auba tensed.

“Are you going to rape me now?” he asked him accusingly, his eyes wide and his hands clenched around the soft sheets. He had expected anger and fury, to be punched and beaten for that. He had expected the Roman to rip the tunic from his body and take him rudely without preparation.

What he had not expected was the truly amused warm chuckle he pulled from the legatus with his question. “Do I look to you like someone being able to have sex at the moment, either forced or consensual, Auba?” he asked back with curiosity clear to hear in his voice. His warm breath ghosted over Auba's neck and this time, the slight shiver running down his spine wasn't a sign of his fear, but a sign of his awakening arousal.

“You won't rape me, Marcus? At least not tonight?” He inquired and he couldn't tell himself whether the hoarseness in his own voice came from his relief or his disappointment.

“Do you really have to ask that question, Auba? Do you really know me that little?” The disappointment in Marcus' sad tone wasn't to dismiss, not the least, although Marcus' respond was barely audible.

“Uhm,” was all Auba brought out, feeling deeply ashamed all of a sudden. “Why sleeping in your bed, then?”

“Because I missed you and I want to have you close to me while I'm sleeping.”

“I could try to wrap this chain around your precious throat and kill you during your sleep!” Auba threatened, although he knew that he could never do that. He'd rather die himself than to murder the man he had loved with all his heart that way.

This statement drew another weak chuckle from the astonishing Roman. “It seems that I know you better than you know me, Auba. You would never do that. Can you please shut up this sweet mouth of yours now and just go to sleep? I'm so tired that I feel sick to my stomach.”

“But in your living room, you said...” Auba tried his luck a little bit further, and Marcus let out a heartfelt sigh. “And you keeping me awake all night is your way of paying me back for this? Look, Auba, I know all of my charges and I know that they would never betray me, at least not freely, but the walls have ears and the emperor must believe that I'll put you in your place the way he thinks I will do. So if anyone will ever ask you whether I forced myself upon you or not, they'll have to believe that I did, understood? You have my word that I won't touch you and that you will be safe. Now. Sleep!”

The last two words were a clear order and Auba found himself closing his eyes almost against his will, drifting quickly into the slumber of exhaustion. Marcus' even breaths lulled him to sleep and his warm body snuggled close to his own promised him protection and a safe haven against the cruelties of real life he had to face again the next day.

Auba relaxed and let sleep claim him, too tired himself to fight against his exhaustion any longer. Auba fell asleep with a small wistful smile on his face, wrapped in the arms of the man who once had been his lover, his mate, and who was now his master and his owner, but still the man he loved no matter how much he wanted to hate him.

Auba slept and Auba dreamed.


	4. Sweet Dreams And Painful Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auba has to sleep in Marcus' bed during his first night in Marcus' villa. Will his dreams be nightmares or bittersweet memories of what they once have shared when they were lovers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear GoForGoals, I'm more sorry for the delay of this story than I can tell you, but I hope that this chapter will make up for it at least a little bit. I love Auba and Marco together and I know that you like them as a couple as much as I do. We both love the very special Roman Marcus, so I hope you will enjoy this chapter, I wrote it while waiting for your decision about what I asked you. :-)
> 
> My dear readers, some of you asked for another chapter of this story, and I'm glad that I finally can present one. Please, share your thoughts with me about this story, it is hard to write a WIP without feedback and knowing if you're enjoying it. Each comment and kudos would make me totally happy. <33
> 
> I'm trying to post the next chapter as soon as possible, but I really want to update each of my unfinished WIPs and there are quite a few, so with working fulltime and family, it can take a while again.

_Auba had a wonderful dream._

_He was back in Syria, the warm and fragrant breeze of his homeland caressing his cheeks as he waited for his lover to come to their secret place where they always met, the small oasis outside the camp near the village of his own people._

_The Syrian prince had met the impressive Roman legatus the first time a couple of months ago during his negotiations with Auba's father, the chief of their tribe and the ruler about several villages. Marcus Retus was not like any other Roman the young man with the smooth, dark skin had ever had the displeasure to make their acquaintance, and he had felt drawn in to him right at first sight._

_Of course, Auba had fought against his feelings, not wanting to fall for one of the hated Romans, and surely not for their commander, because such a kind of relationship had to become a disaster by nature, but his heart had ignored his brain's reasons why this love had to be in vain, and when he had noticed the way Marcus Retus looked at him, passion and desire burning in his beautiful amber-golden eyes, he had known that he was lost, so lost._

_They had danced around each other for a few weeks, furtively and cautiously, but after the feast his father had ordered his people to arrange for the powerful Roman legatus and his legionaries, they had met here for the first time, and Marcus' heated kisses had proved to him that his feelings were returned._

_It was a risky undertaking to meet at their oasis as oftentimes as they could, but Auba just couldn't help it. He loved and desired the blond Roman more than he had desired and loved anything or anyone in his life so far, and he simply couldn't stay away from him just like moths couldn't stay away from the light burning them._

_A silent rustling sound announced his lover's arrival, and Auba turned around just in time to watch Marcus Retus emerging from behind the bushes hiding them from prying glances. The Roman stopped, looking intently at him for one moment, before a tender smile spread out on his handsome features and he stepped to the young prince, pulling him close to his body covered only by a thin and short white tunic. The simple clothing suited the tall Roman very well, and Auba's breath hitched in his throat that this amazing and beautiful man loved him of all people._

_Marcus' from holding a sword and the reins of his horse calloused hands came up to gently card through Auba's dark curls, tenderly forcing him to tilt his head to the side for the kiss they both craved for. The Syrian wrapped his own arms around Marcus' broad shoulders, his short nails digging into the flesh of the Roman's back underneath the thin linen of his tunic. Marcus growled at his lips, the sound vibrating in Auba's tingling mouth as their tongues met to battle a playful duel. It had been a couple of days since their last encounter, and Auba had thought that he would go crazy with longing and need. His Roman lover had obviously missed him just as much, because his kiss wasn't as tender and slow as it normally was, but heated and passionate, and Auba could feel his raging erection pressing against his hipbone, even though nothing except for this kiss had happened so far._

_Auba knew Marcus as the patient and careful kind of lover, he had taken Auba's virginity with uttermost tenderness and care, never losing his astonishing self-control when they made love and always taking care of Auba's needs before he cared about his own._

_But tonight, this had changed, because the blond legatus deepened their kiss to a level he normally reserved for the moment when he was finally buried deep inside his Syrian prince, his tongue imitating the act of lovemaking until Auba's head was spinning and his aroused cock tried to tear through the tight loincloth he wore as underwear._

_“Missed you, missed you so!” Auba gasped out when Marcus finally let go of his bruised mouth to let his hot and impatient lips wander along his jawline until his mouth reached his vulnerable throat._

_“Missed you, too, Auba,” the Roman breathed against his flushed, damp skin, and Auba shivered with need and unbearable arousal. He tried to rub his straining erection against Marcus' body, but the well-trained soldier held him in place, pushing him against the rough bark of the tree he was pressed against, growling when Auba tried to free himself. “You're mine, Auba, don't you ever forget that!” Marcus almost snarled before pressing his mouth onto Auba's swollen lips again._

_The Syrian couldn't do anything than just take what Marcus did to him, and when he melted against the slim but strong frame of the Roman's body, not fighting any longer, Marcus pulled his right hand out of his hair and snaked it between their bodies. He opened the loincloth with skilled and practiced fingers, letting it fall to the ground right where they stood, leaned against the tree._   
_Auba was glad that he had undressed his own clothing except for the loincloth before Marcus had come to him as his lover now drew back from his lips to let his hungry eyes travel over the young prince's naked body, exposed to his predatory stare. “Yes, I'm yours, Marcus, only yours!” Auba heard himself moan in such a hoarse voice that he almost didn't recognize it himself, and the amber-golden eyes lit up with possessiveness and satisfaction when the Roman heard the sheer need in his confession._

_Marcus wrapped his rough palm around Auba's leaking cock trapped between their groins, and Auba suppressed his strangled cry only with effort. He was already close, his longing because of their rather long separation, his overwhelming love for the other man and Marcus' uncommon, possessive and harsh behavior pushing him towards the edge far too quickly for his liking._

_The Roman soldier didn't kiss him again like Auba had expected it, he just watched him silently with narrowed eyes while he jerked him off, and the Syrian prince found himself staring back, unable to avert his eyes, his love, desire and need clearly visible in his dark-brown eyes. “Marcus, I-I'm close, please stop that or I'm coming too soon!” he whimpered, fighting against the all-consuming urge to let go and spill into the warm fingers stroking him mercilessly into sweet oblivion._

_“No.” was all the blond Roman said in a flat and strangely impassive voice, and Auba had to blink against the clouds of lust blurring his vision. “But, I want you to be inside of me, to feel you when I come!” he tried to object and Marcus smiled, a brief, wistful and sad smile Auba couldn't truly understand. “Don't you doubt that this will happen tonight, my beautiful prince. You will never forget this night, I promise you. Don't hold back, I want you to come for me this way, Auba.” The Roman's husky words were a dark, seductive purr, and the thumb of his left hand still holding his head in place brushed over his swollen bottom lip._

_Auba struggled for a few more seconds, not wanting to come like this without his beloved Marcus being buried deep inside him, but the Romans skillful fingers knew exactly where to stroke him and how much pressure would pleasure him the most, as experienced and naturally talented as the older man was when it came to share the joys of intimate pleasures. Marcus' eyes watching him like a lion would watch his prey boosted his lust even more, and it took only three more strokes and a tender pull to make him lose his self-control and spill his hot seed all over Marcus' hand. His lover silenced his cry of satisfaction with his hot mouth, thrusting with his tongue deep into the sweet cavern, and Auba arched his back, helplessly, as he shook through the throes of passion._

_The Syrian didn't know how long the waves of his orgasm had coursed through him when he finally dropped against Marcus' strong frame, his breathing ragged and his knees feeling like jelly. Marcus slowly lowered them down onto the soft grass, shrugging out of his tunic and underwear before covering Auba's limp body with his own. He pushed his with Auba's semen slick fingers between his thighs, finding hardly any resistance after the young prince's forceful orgasm when he pushed one finger inside him. Auba felt as if he had been drained of all strength, but he managed to spread his trembling legs to give his wonderful lover better access to his secret core, his arms embracing Marcus' naked back as tightly as he could and his fingers roaming over all the spots he knew Marcus would react best to when caressed._

_Marcus' strange mood troubled the Syrian prince a little bit, but he felt too sated and too happy to finally lie in his arms again, feel his hands upon his body and his kisses upon his lips to really care about the reason behind it. The way Marcus kissed him and held him close left no doubt that the Roman loved and desired him as passionately as Auba loved him, and his rock-hard cock rubbing against Auba's hipbone with every move he made as he prepared him thoroughly for their lovemaking proved to the younger one that only Marcus' iron self-control kept him from just taking him and satisfy his own burning need. Auba loved the sensation of Marcus' impressive length poking against his abs, smearing the milky drops of pleasure Auba's orgasm had milked from his beloved Roman all over his tender skin and his pubic hair, and the Syrian shivered with new arousal. Marcus knew him so well after the months they were secret lovers now, and his three fingers pumping in and out of his tight passage grazed over his sweet spot just oftentimes enough to turn Auba into a quivering and panting mess again._

_“I need you, please, take me, I need to feel you, Marcus, please!” he begged, not caring about how pleadingly his voice sounded. Marcus' tender lips on his heated cheek soothed him, and the softly murmured words tickling his sensitive skin were the sweetest music Auba could only imagine. “I will, my sweet Auba, right away, I want you so. You have no idea how much I want you.”_

_“Show me, please, Marcus take me!” Auba arched his back into Marcus' touch as the blond Roman now made himself comfortable between his thighs, slowly and carefully entering him with his hard spear. He raised his legs to feel his lover deeper inside him and Marcus rewarded him with a deep thrust and another burning kiss. It felt so good to be so close to the love of his life, to feel the blond stubble covering Marcus' cheeks brushing over his own smoother skin, and Auba didn't care if anyone would notice the slight red burn afterwards. All he cared about was lying in Marcus' arms and finally making love to him again. Nothing else truly mattered and he met each of the Roman's thrust with the same unrestrained passion, his own cock hard and aching again._

_Marcus didn't hold himself back any longer when he felt Auba's new arousal, his hips moving up and down hard and fast in violent snaps, and the Syrian loved this rougher side of his skilled lover. He had been grateful for Marcus' tenderness and care he had taken him with for the first times, but while Auba had always been unable to hold himself back, uttering his lust and pleasure in many unmistakable ways when they had slept together, the blond Roman had never let himself go, completely, always keeping one small amount of his ardor and lust at bay._

_Until tonight. Tonight, he possessed Auba like he had never possessed him before, rough, ardently and completely. Auba swallowed Marcus' hoarse and desperate moans with his deep kiss, and his nails scratched helplessly over his lover's back, his hips moving in the same rhythm and leaving no doubt that he enjoyed their wild coupling as much as the Roman legatus did, who didn't resemble his normally calm and reserved, reasonable self any longer, only the slightest. His thick dark-blond hair was hopelessly ruffled, the longer strands hanging in his forehead and his pupils as he raised his head to look at Auba were almost black, blown with his arousal. Marcus looked like a Greek or Roman God at this special moment, like the dangerous and powerful conqueror so many Romans had been and still were and he was the most beautiful sight the young Syrian prince had ever seen in his entire life with his sparkling eyes, hovering over him in all his naked glory._

_By all Gods, Auba loved this man. He loved him more than anything – more than his own life. The young prince hadn't known that he could love someone – anyone - the way he loved Marcus Retus, and his willingness to follow him everywhere, even in the netherworld if Marcus asked him to do that, scared and pleased the younger one at the same time. “I love you, Marcus, I love you so much!” he moaned and Marcus let out a gasp. “I love you, Auba. I will never love anyone the way I love you, again, never. I love you more than life itself,” he whispered and his ardently whispered words pushed Auba over the edge again._

_The Syrian came untouched, Marcus' relentless pummeling and the feeling of his throbbing cock brushing over his most sensitive knob with every ardent thrust, together with his love confession too much for Auba to keep his self-control. Hot release erupted from his twitching manhood, pulsing against Marcus' sweaty abdomen, and his lover followed him over the edge, silencing his strangled cry on Auba's shoulder. Marcus' teeth drew blood as he bit down, but the Syrian didn't mind, the pain of the love-bite prolonging his ecstasy as much as the sensation of the legatus pumping his seed deep inside him._

_They clung to each other as they shuddered through their shared pleasure, and when it was over, Auba was sure that he was truly in heaven. Marcus' weight threatened to crush him, but Auba didn't let go of him as he tried to move away from him, wrapping his arms and his legs firmly around him._

_For a while, they simply lay there, until Marcus raised his head to look at him. Auba swallowed when he saw the grief and regret in the beautiful amber-golden depths, and he brought up a shaky hand to stroke Marcus' wet cheek._

_“Marcus, what's wrong? What happened?” he asked, a cold feeling spreading out from his chest into every cell of his body. The Roman sighed, a small sound filled with all the sorrow he felt._

_“I'm so sorry, Auba. The emperor called me back. I will leave tomorrow.”_

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

Auba jerked awake from his dream, and for one moment, he didn't know where he was, the memories of his last night with Marcus still so vivid in his mind as if it had just happened. His cheeks were wet with the tears he must have shed in his sleep, and his briefs stuck to his groin, a clear sign that he had had an orgasm while sleeping, most likely due to the dream, as well.

The former Syrian prince and now Syrian slave and ex-gladiator lay upon a soft underground and some strong ropes were wrapped around him; and it took him a couple of seconds until he realized where he was and that the ropes weren't ropes, at all, but a pair of strong-muscled arms holding him tight.

Marcus Retus' arms.

Auba lay in the bed of his former lover and now owner with Marcus' arms wrapped around him and his front snuggled close to Auba's back. The man he had loved more than life itself, the man he would have died and killed for, the man who had given his life a reason and a new meaning was now his owner, allowed to do with the man he had sworn to always love whatever he wanted to do.

Marcus had left him to run into Tiberius' arms without caring about Auba's broken heart and shattered dreams, and the Syrian tensed up, trying to pull away from the arms and the lithe and warm body.

“Auba? What's wrong?” Marcus murmured against his neck, still half asleep, and Auba finally remembered the happenings of the previous evening. The blond Roman had been in a bad state, looking sick and totally wrung out, and his limp and with tiredness heavy body told Auba that he didn't have to fear that the legatus was going to rape him tonight. His cock poking against Auba's backside was soft and he couldn't feel any wetness coating the thin linen of Marcus' briefs that would have revealed that Marcus had had an orgasm only a couple of minutes before, too, so it had been truly only a dream, a dream only he had had. Marcus surely had forgotten their oh so special last night a long time ago.

Auba had never forgotten it, not matter how much he had tried to do so, and he had dreamed of their last night more oftentimes than he could count, but never that vividly and he had never come because of his dream.

“Is everything okay, Auba?” Marcus asked, his calloused fingers stroking over his naked arm in a tender, comforting gesture. He sounded more awake now, but still tired and sleepily. Auba sighed, slowly relaxing again, although his eyes stung with new tears and his throat hurt from the sobs he had to hold back.

“Yes, everything's fine, don't worry. It was only a bad dream,” he whispered hoarsely, glad that the darkness hid his face.

“Hush, Auba, I'm here. No one's gonna hurt you,” Marcus murmured, snuggling closer to him. Auba flinched, but it was such an innocent gesture, meant to only comfort and soothe him and not the least seductive, and Auba sighed and gave in. He hated it, but he needed some comfort, and Marcus had always been able to soothe him like no other person in this world.

“It's still early, my splendid one. Go back to sleep,” Marcus yawned, his muscles relaxing as he slipped back into the slumber of exhaustion.

Auba swallowed when he heard the petname Marcus had given him, back then in Syria. He was a proud young man, a prince and a tough warrior of his tribe, and he had never allowed anyone to call him by a petname. Marcus had been the first one daring to give him a petname without risking a black eye, and Auba had loved it when Marcus had called him his 'splendid one'.

He had done so in their last night, as well, when Auba had begged him to stay and when they had made love one last desperate time again, before Marcus had finally left him to go back to his men and leave Syria with the first ship in the morning, taking Auba's heart, his hopes and his dreams with him.

One single tear rolled over his damp cheek, but Auba didn't wipe it away. Instead, he pulled Marcus' arms closer around him, closing his eyes, too exhausted after the happenings of the previous day to fight against the tiredness making his bones feel as if heavy weights had been tied to them.

Another tear followed the first one, joined by more glistening drops and Auba let his tears fall freely until a merciful dreamless sleep claimed him again.


	5. The Duties Of A Counselor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auba wakes up in Marcus' bed after his dream and has to deal with reality, while Marcus has to deal with Tiberius as he fulfills his duties as his military adviser...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear GoForGoals, I am in the mood for this story and there will be another chapter of this story within the next couple of days. Sorry that it took me so long, I'll do my best to update this story more oftentimes in the future. :-*
> 
> My dear readers, I'm updating some of my older works at the moment, and Marcus Retus has a very special place in my heart, no matter in which story he appears. Those of you who have read The Slave already know Legatus Robertus Levantus (Robert Lewandowski), he and Centurion Marius Gordianus (Mario Götze) will make an appearnce in this story, as well. They will show up in the next chapter. I hope that you are still interested in this story, please let me know if you're still with Legatus Marcus Retus and his beloved Syrian prince Auba. :-)

Auba stretched his limbs when he slowly woke up, relishing in the warmth and softness of the bottom layer he was lying on. The mattress he had slept on in his large tent in Syria had been rather thin, but the sand it had lain upon had been soft enough to turn it into a cozy bed. The hardness of the stony ground in the Circus Maximus hadn't been anything which had actually bothered him though, he'd rather sleep on hard stone as a free man for the rest of his life than in cozy beds but being held as a slave.

This thought made his eyes fly open, and Auba tensed up when he suddenly remembered that he hadn't been alone in his bed when he had fallen asleep.

Marcus' bed, actually.

Auba didn't have a bed on his own any longer, neither a thin and moldy mattress, nor one made of hard stone, he was supposed to warm the bed of his new owner now and serve his needs when the emperor didn't have time to see to Marcus Retus' desire himself.

The former Syrian prince held his breath and tried to unwrap himself from Marcus' arms without waking the Roman up, because the young legatus would surely be well-rested after the long night and expect him to take care to his morning erection. Marcus might have told him last night that he wouldn't rape him, but he was a powerful Roman, and powerful Romans tended to change their minds very quickly. Auba had made this experience more than only once, and Marcus himself had changed his mind about staying in Syria within the blink of an eye. Therefore, the young gladiator didn't believe his sweet words only the slightest. They were only meant to lure him into false security, and Auba would never make the same mistake twice and trust the damn Roman who had broken his heart that cruelly.

Auba was so caught up in his attempts to free himself without making too much noise and wake his enemy up that it took him a rather long time to realize that Marcus wasn't with him any longer. No arms wrapped around him kept him from moving, and no warm body was nestled against his back anymore.

Instead, his bare skin was exposed to the cool morning breeze, and Auba shivered and blinked, craning his neck to peer over his shoulder.

“My master has left the house about more than one hour ago, Auba.”

Rufus' calm voice held the faintest hint of amusement, and the Syrian snapped his head in the direction of where the words had come from. His brain didn't take the hasty movement well though, and the room started to spin around him. Auba groaned and closed his eyes to carefully and slowly open them again when the dizziness had faded.

“Rufus?” he asked rather stupidly when he had sat up in the bed, and the red-haired Celt paused in what he had done while waiting for him to wake up and glanced musingly at him.

“Yes, it's me. I'm pleased to see that you're finally awake, Auba.” He put his pencil aside and folded his arms before his chest as he regarded his owner's new slave with an impassive face.

“Where did he go?” Auba knew that he sounded defiantly and reproachfully, but he couldn't help his feelings. Somehow, he felt hurt and betrayed that Marcus had just left him like that, even though this was ridiculous, of course. He should actually feel relieved that he didn't have to face the blond Roman right after waking up, but his confusion and disappointment about Marcus' absence simply wouldn't fade.

“To the senate, young prince,” Rufus stated what he apparently thought must be clear for Auba. “My master is the emperor's military adviser, and he has to fulfill his duties regardless of his own wishes. He would never neglect his duties.”

Auba snorted at that. “Of course, he wouldn't. Especially not when it comes to fulfilling his duties of serving Tiberius in his bed.”

One of Rufus' eyebrow traveled upwards. “Did my master actually tell you that sharing the emperor's bed belongs to his duties as his military adviser? I would be surprised if he had done that, because sleeping with Tiberius clearly does not belong to those duties. You don't really believe that the legatus has to serve Tiberius this way in front of his senators during a heated debate about the political situation in Germania, do you?” he asked, his voice a mixture of disbelieving astonishment, curiosity and mockery now.

Auba felt heat creeping into his cheeks. “No, he didn't tell me that his duties as Tiberius' military adviser include more intimate services. On the contrary, he asked me whether I would believe him or not if he told me that he's not sharing his bed,” he mumbled, casting his eyes down to avoid Rufus' intense gaze.

There was a short silence, then Rufus spoke up again. “I see. And what did you answer him, young prince?” he wanted to know, his tone giving nothing away of what he thought.

“That I wouldn't believe him, of course. I've seen the way Tiberius is looking at him all the time, the emperor is obsessed with him! And I am not a prince any longer, but only a slave, so don't call me that!” Was that really his voice? Sounding like a whining child that didn't get the toy it wanted to have? He didn't love Marcus any longer, he only hated him, so why should he care about whom the damn blond Roman slept with?

“For Marcus, you will always be his Syrian prince, so you will be the same for me, Auba. But I will call you Auba if you're more comfortable with that. And it might be true that Tiberius is obsessed with my master, Auba, but the emperor desiring Marcus doesn't mean that my master shares Tiberius' bed, does it?”

Rufus' voice had a slight but clearly audible sharp edge now, and the young Syrian looked up at him, his lips pressed to a thin line. “No matter what you'll say, Rufus, you won't convince me that he doesn't!” he said, flatly. “He is your master and of course, you will defend him at all costs. I can see that you admire and adore him, and I respect your loyalty towards him, but don't try to make me feel the same way. Marcus has betrayed me once, and I will never ever trust him again!”

Auba didn't care about being punished for his impudence, he felt too confused and hurt to care about anything, and he lifted his chin up in defiance and met the Celt's gaze with heated self-righteousness. If Rufus was going to beat him now, then so be it. The Syrian held the other man's glance without blinking, challenging him to do what everyone would do after any slave showing such a behavior – beat him until he lay bleeding on the floor.

For several minutes, they measured each other with their eyes, and Auba was astonished when Rufus only sighed and even smiled after a few minutes. It was a sad and resigned smile, but the red-haired Celt didn't show any signs of anger.

“Fair enough, Auba, I can see your point, and I respect your feelings just like you are willing to respect my faithfulness towards my master. But one thing you'd better not forget: of course, no one can force you to believe Marcus' words, even though they are the truth and not a lie, at all. But, I won't let you insult my master and call him a liar in his own house, Syrian. If you'll ever so much as only mention that Marcus might have told you a lie in front of others – no matter who it might be – then you'll regret it, be sure about that. You will show the appropriate respect towards the man who has saved your life and keep your thoughts about Marcus to yourself, Auba, am I understood?”

Auba swallowed. Rufus hadn't raised his voice, but it was perfectly clear that he was deadly serious about that. For him, the possibility of Marcus being a liar went to zero, and he would defend his beloved master and dig his teeth and his claws into everyone's throat who dared to question Marcus Retus' trustworthiness and nobleness, just like a lioness would do to defend her cubs.

“Yes, you are, Rufus,” he countered, willing to respect the older slave's order. Rufus hadn't lied to him so far, and antagonizing Marcus' housekeeper on the very first day of his stay in Marcus' villa wasn't a clever thing to do, either.

“Very well, I want you to get up then. It is already rather late, and I have to see to my own duties.” Rufus looked expectantly at him, and Auba moved towards the edge of the bed. “Why didn't you wake me up?” he asked, shivering in his thin tunic. The catacombs of the Circus Maximus had been much colder, but Auba felt bereft of Marcus' body heat after the long hours the Roman had lain close to him, and he rubbed his arms in the attempt of getting warmer again.

“Marcus told me to let you sleep, Auba, what did you think? He said that you had had a nightmare during the night and that you needed your rest. He used the restroom next to the bath to not disturb you before he left.”

So Marcus hadn't sneaked out of the bed because he didn't care about him, but because he hadn't wanted to wake him up. Auba's head started to spin again, and he groaned with helpless anger and confusion. Why couldn't his former lover and now owner be the hateful person he wanted him to be? Marcus had thought that he had had a nightmare, and he had been considerate enough to let him sleep. The dream hadn't been a nightmare, at all, but Auba wouldn't admit that. His memories were as painful as a real nightmare would have been, and he didn't want to be reminded of what he had lost more than absolutely necessary.

“I see,” was all he said when he struggled to his feet, “I shall hurry.”

Rufus nodded and took his pencil again, and after one more minute, Auba crossed the room and disappeared behind the door to the restroom, asking himself what kind of humiliation he would have to face during the certainly very long day.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

“The situation in Germania is unsatisfying, to say the least! We need to defeat them and teach them their places before they'll decide to attack us in our own territories!” Publius Septimus Quirinius paced up and down on the marble tiles of the great hall where the senate took place, and Marcus resisted the urge to follow the senator's hectic wandering and his awkward turnarounds with his eyes, fearing that he would become dizzy again if he did.

The blond legatus had decided that he needed his sleep much more than a proper breakfast, and his empty stomach together with the last remains of his sickness from the previous day blurred his vision and dulled his normally excellently working brain to a dangerous level. Marcus couldn't allow himself to appear weak in front of the older senators, who hadn't taken it well that Tiberius had chosen a young and in their eyes far too inexperienced commander to be his adviser, anyway.

The white pillars of the hall carrying the roof reflected the sunlight shining through the large windows, and Marcus blinked because the yellow-white light hurt in his eyes. The previous day had been exhausting, and the young legatus still hadn't recovered fully from his ailment. All he craved for was his warm bed and the feeling of Auba wrapped safely in his arms and yet, here he sat next to the man who had forced him to take the one he loved with all his heart as his slave, making a brave and determined face and telling the senators being at least twice his age that they were wrong with their demand to send more legions to Germania.

Tiberius had listened silently to Quirinius' complaint, turning his head now to look at Marcus. “What do you think, Marcus? Shall we send more legions to fight against the barbarians living behind the limes?”

Marcus suppressed a sigh. It had been the same in Syria with his predecessor and his successor. They all thought that fighting against the people living in the countries the Romans wanted to claim as their rightful territories was the only option to expand the Roman empire, and that oppressing them and making them slaves would lead to a peaceful cooperation. Marcus knew that the opposite was true, offering understanding, friendship and respect was what made people live peacefully together, not abusing and defeating them with military forces and power.

“I think that we should wait with this debate until Legatus Robertus Levantus' visits Rome in the near future. He is the one who has lived in Augusta Treverorum for the past four years, and he is the one who knows the situation best. Most of the Teuton tribes are embroiled in political fights with other tribes, this might give us the opportunity to think carefully about our next steps instead of making hasty decisions that could lead to another lost battle like the one in the Teutoburger Forest,” he answered, ignoring the grumbling and murmuring senators, who were clearly annoyed by the mentioning of the Roman's disgrace a couple of years ago.

The young legatus focused his attention on Tiberius only though, and he knew that he was playing with fire, but he wouldn't talk the emperor into another war against the Teutons the Roman empire simply couldn't win at this point. Marcus might be a soldier with every fiber of his being, but he was politician enough to see the risks of such an undertaking, and he wouldn't lie to Tiberius in this matter and risk that good men would lose their lives for nothing but serving the other senators' pride and stubborn blindness. His personal feelings towards the emperor didn't matter in this case, here in this hall, he was only his military adviser, nothing more and nothing less. His only striving was to let Tiberius see the truth and let him make the right decisions, and to protect the Roman empire and its people from more bloody battles and horrible losses. There was no Roman living in the proud city of Rome who hadn't lost at least one relative or friend in the battle of the Teutoburger Forest, Marcus had lost an uncle and two friends of his parents in this terrible battle himself.

Tiberius regarded him with an unreadable expression for several long minutes and in this moment, he was only the strong and powerful emperor and not the man who desired Marcus and tried to conquer him and lure him into his arms and his bed. He radiated the cold of the most powerful living being in this world, and the younger man was well aware that one false word or glance could cost him his head and his life. But, Marcus didn't fear the emperor, and he held his gaze and looked him straight in the eyes without wavering.

After a while, the Roman emperor relaxed again and pursed his lips, letting his eyes travel over Marcus' figure as if he was trying to see the curves of his slim and lithe body hidden under the creases of his toga. Then, he smiled, and it was the smile of the predator hunting the younger man down again, as he opened his mouth and said in an almost purring voice:

“You're right with what you've said, my dear Marcus Retus. You might be young...” Tiberius turned his head to measure his senators with a strict glance and a raised eyebrow, “...but your voice is the voice of wisdom and intelligence instead of the voice of youthful temerity. We will do what you advised us to do and wait for Legatus Levantus' return. Luckily, his return is due today, so we won't have to wait with our debate for much longer, Robertus will join the senate within the next days and explain the situation in Germania, then.”

Marcus let out a sound of surprise, because his last information had been that Robertus would visit Rome the next month. Tiberius' smile turned into smug and content. “Did I surprise you, Marcus? Legatus Levantus traveled much faster than we could all have hoped for, and his messenger announced his imminent return yesterday after the gladiator fights. I am glad that my little surprise for you is obviously very much appreciated – judging by your expression, that is. I know quite well how much you've missed your friends Robertus and Marius, haven't you, Marcus Retus?”

Marcus struggled hard to not let his feelings show. He had indeed missed his best childhood friend Marius and his close friend Robertus, badly, especially after his return to Rome with a broken heart because of Auba. Marius and Robertus were the ones he could talk to, openly, and he could hardly wait to see them again. “Yes, I've missed them, Tiberius, thank you for this wonderful news,” he admitted, knowing that this was what the other man wanted to hear. Tiberius surely expected that his surprise would make Marcus become inclined to finally climb into his bed, and the emperor's next words only confirmed his worst fears.

Marcus felt stunned into shocked silence, feeling the appraising glances of the senators on his pale face when Tiberius pulled the next ace off his sleeve and readied himself with a smug expression for what he had in mind to prove his power to his young adviser once more. Marcus knew that the other men were waiting for his reaction like vultures were waiting hungrily for the poor cow's death, hoping that Marcus would let slip his mask so they could use it against him. Marcus didn't give them the satisfaction, he listened quietly to Tiberius' words, and his face was like made of stone, his eyes giving nothing away of his horror and despair as the emperor now said:

“To celebrate Levantus' safe return to Rome, I decided to invite a few guests to an intimate party this evening. Only my closest friends, and you will be one of them, Marcus. Plus, I want you to bring your new slave with you, this handsome Syrian gladiator. I want to see for myself that he won't give you any trouble and that you have taught him his place, thoroughly, my dear friend. Maybe, we can even arrange a nice fight between him and one of the other guests, I have to admit that his skills impressed me, a lot, yesterday. It will be fun to tame him a little bit and distract us from the worries about our beloved empire for a few hours. I have gotten the impression that this Syrian still considers himself the prince has once been, and it would be good to erase every arrogant and overbearing thought from his mind. It's about time to show him that he will never be more than only a slave for you, and tonight would be a good time to start with that. What do you think, Marcus? Wouldn't it be nice to spend an evening among your close friends and introduce your new slave to them?”


	6. A Painful Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus returns from the session of the senate to share his lunch with Auba and talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear GoForGoals, I actually wated to move on with the plot a little bit more, but the boys had other plans again, they wanted to talk with each other. I'll try to hurry with the next chapter, after seeing to Black Moon and One Year With The King, that is. :-)
> 
> My dear readers, enjoy the new chapter of Marcus Retus' adventures with his defiant Syrian prince Auba and please, let me know if you liked it, your feedback is very much appreciated. :-)

Marcus Retus made it back to his villa in an astonishing short amount of time. Julius, the young slave he had chosen to accompany him to the senate almost ran after him, but Marcus felt too restless and too nervous to be as considerate as he normally was. He actually preferred to leave his villa without slaves accompanying him, but he couldn't do it when he had to fulfill his duties as Tiberius' military adviser, the other senators would surely have used it against him, accusing him of not being a true Roman citizen and aristocrat.

Julius was one of the slaves he had saved from a cruel fate and another owner, who had enjoyed beating his slaves just for them daring to breathe the same air as he did, and the boy was absolutely trustworthy and served him with uttermost devotion and gratitude. Marcus would have preferred to give him his freedom back, but Julius was too young, he wouldn't be able to live a life on his own, the danger that another cruel Roman would make him a slave again too high that he could risk that.

“Welcome home, Dominus,” Rufus greeted him when Julius opened the door for their master, and Marcus huffed a relieved sigh that he could leave the dusty road and the gaudy white shine of the burning sun behind as he entered the cool and dim hall of his villa. The young slave with the dark curls closed the door again, locking the sunlight and the heat lingering over the proud city of Rome and in between its buildings out, to kneel down before Marcus and help him out of the sandals he wore when he left his house. The young legatus let him do it, knowing how much it meant to the boy to show his gratitude to him with such small services.

“Thank you, Rufus, I'm glad to be back at home that early,” Marcus said, smiling at his housekeeper and long time friend. He turned his head to smile at Julius, as well. “I want you to go to the kitchen, Julius. I am sure that my cook has saved some of your favorite cheese and one or two slices of the fresh bread for you. When you have eaten, I want you to take a little rest, I will need your services later when I have to see to my correspondence and the report about the session of the senate for the emperor.”

Julius bowed deeply before him. “Of course, Dominus. Thank you, you're too kind,” the dark-haired slave said, smiling adoringly at him. Marcus suppressed another sigh and the urge to roll his eyes. Julius wasn't responsible for his behavior, Marcus had been the first human being treating him with kindness and like another human being, as well, and he wouldn't tell him off for showing his thankfulness and admiration although he felt uncomfortable by the display of deep adoration and hero worship.

“Make sure that I'll have enough parchment and ink, please,” he only ordered the boy in a friendly and reasonable tone, “I remember having used all of the parchment that was left in my office for the last report. But there should be some roles in my library. I can't offer Tiberius' librarian the report carved into a wax tablet.”

Julius bowed again. “You will have everything you'll need for the report, Dominus.”

Marcus watched him hurry in the direction of his office to fulfill his duties with a shake of his head. Other slaves would have gone to the kitchen at first, filling their stomachs and taking the rest their masters had allowed them to take, but not the few slaves belonging to his household. His slaves always saw to his requests before taking care of their own needs, expecting nothing than his smile and approving glance as their reward. Marcus avoided to give strict orders as best as possible, he preferred to ask his charges for the things he needed, and none of them had ever let him down so far and refused to fulfill their tasks with greatest care. It was only the small things that turned a strict order into a friendly request, like a kind smile and the added words 'please' or 'thank you', but they never failed to make his servants and slaves giving their best to serve him.

Other Romans might call him weak and loathe him for the way he treated his underlings, but Marcus didn't really care about their opinion. He kept up appearances for the sake of the ones belonging to him, and he was careful to not let his mask slip in front of Tiberius and the senators, because it would have been too dangerous to only think of that. His entire household and his family would suffer if he dared to put other proud Romans to shame by behaving inappropriately in public, and his charges all knew that and accepted his changed behavior in public and only showed the subdued and servile demeanor slaves were supposed to show then themselves.

Julius for example heard the unspoken 'please' in his orders whenever he addressed him during the long sessions of the senate, and he knew that Marcus only ordered him around to not endanger both of them and always displayed the expected humbleness and servility in public, keeping his head lowered down and answering only in a whispering voice. The blond legatus hated it, but there was nothing he could to change the common Roman way of life. Especially not with Tiberius as the ruler of the Roman empire.

Auba would be an entirely different kind of matter.

Treating him like his other charges would lead into a catastrophe, that much was sure, even though Marcus hated the thought of treating him like a real slave and not the man he still loved with all his heart. The thought of the proud Syrian made the tall Roman realize that he was still standing in the foyer of his villa and that Rufus was still waiting for him to address him and tell him what he needed. He shook his head to clear his mind and sharpen his vision, meeting Rufus' attentive gaze with a thoughtful glance.

“Rufus, my friend. How is our new house resident doing?” he asked, prepared for the worst.

His housekeeper pursed his lips, thoughtfully. “Just like expected, Dominus. He's sulking and determined to hate you and everything and everyone in this house, but he has actually a hard time with keeping up his defiance. He was truly disappointed that you had already gone when he woke up.”

Marcus' eyebrow traveled upwards. “Is that so? That's a good sign, isn't it? As long as he isn't indifferent towards me, there is hope left. He might think that he hates me, but I'd rather deal with his hate than with indifference.” He sighed. “After the forthcoming night, he will hate me even more.”

Rufus tilted his head to the side. “Why that, Marcus?” he asked, quietly, changing from the official address he normally used when he saw to his duties as Marcus' housekeeper to the address he used when he was Marcus' friend and confident.

Marcus pulled a face, because the mere thought of Tiberius' invitation made him feel sick again. “Tiberius decided to celebrate Robertus Levantus' imminent return to Rome with an intimate party. He ordered me to visit his place tonight and bring Auba with me, so he can see for himself that I have taught him his place...”

“I see.” Rufus' handsome features settled into a grim expression before they lit up with the realization that one of Marcus' closest friends was about to visit the capital. “It is good to know that your dear friend Legatus Levantus will visit Rome. We'll have to expect his visit of your house any time soon then, as well.”

Marcus nodded his head, slowly crossing his large foyer. “I think so. I don't need to ask you whether or not my house is ready to welcome him and Marius; my house is always prepared for visitors since you've become my housekeeper, my dear Rufus.”

Rufus allowed himself a short chuckle, smiling at his master. “Of course, Dominus. Your friends can visit you at any time without you being put to shame by not being prepared for their stay, properly.” He waited until his master had reached him before undressing the legatus' toga and putting it over his bent forearm. “What about a light meal, Marcus? You haven't had breakfast, and I don't think that your stomach will take such a sumptuous dinner the emperor is known for well without having been filled with something more nourishing beforehand.”

Marcus felt still slightly sick, but he knew that he had to eat something. “Yes, I could do with a light meal, bread, cheese and some fruits, Rufus. Will you please see to that being brought to my private dining room?” He swallowed and straightened his shoulders. “And bring Auba to my dining room, as well, Rufus. I have to talk to him.”

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

Auba reached the opposite wall and turned around again, starting another round of his nervous pacing. Rufus had left him a while ago to await the return of his master – _their_ master, actually – locking the iron ring belonging to his chain to its counterpart attached to the wall. The red-haired Celt had done it with a stoic face, but Auba had seen the hidden disgust in his eyes. Marcus' other slaves surely didn't need to be chained, they most likely stayed freely and willingly, hoping that the blond legatus would gift them with the very dubious honor of taking them into his bed now and then if they served him well.

Auba had known better than to fight against being chained. Rufus might loathe what he had to do, but he would do it, nonetheless, never even thinking of disobeying one of Marcus Retus' orders.

After a light but delicious breakfast, Rufus had taken Auba with him to his office while seeing to his parchment work, and Auba, feeling bored, restless and still hurt and confused, had sat down on the lounger and stared out of the window in the futile attempt to meditate. The older slave had ignored him, caught up in his work, and he hadn't even looked up when Auba had given up his attempts to find some peace of mind and had started to walk up and down before his desk instead.

“Stop that, Auba,” he had only said, pointing at the shelf beside his desk. “If I had to guess, then I would say that either your father or Marcus, or probably both of them have taught you how to read and write. There are some books you might find interesting. They will help you to understand Romans and their way of life better.”

Auba had hesitated, weighing the two options he had in his mind. Should he admit that he was able to read and write or should he pretend that Marcus hadn't taught him these very useful abilities? Rufus was right, his father had wanted that his children – especially his oldest son and heir – were capable of reading and writing the Latin language, but he had had a hard time with learning both until Marcus had started to teach him. After three months, he had read and written fluently, and he obviously hadn't lost his skills over the past months as he had realized after taking one of the parchment roles and starting to read it.

They had spent two hours in the silence of some kind of cautious truce, Rufus focused on his work and Auba focused on his book before Rufus had finally left him with the promise to come back to him as soon as Marcus was at home again.

This had been a while ago, and Auba felt more and more angry, staring at the damn chain with an annoyed hiss fleeing his lips when he almost toppled over because of it during his nervous pacing.

“Damn chain! Damn Roman!” he snarled, blinking against the tears welling up in his eyes. Tears of anger of course, not of hurt and lovesickness. He was over Marcus and his love for him, had stopped loving him when the blond legatus had left him, and he didn't feel any longing for him, at all. He wanted to wrap his hands around his neck to kill him, not to embrace him as tightly as only possible and never let go of him again.

“I hate you!” he added, helplessly, his voice trembling with his held back tears, just when the door to Rufus' office opened all of a sudden, and Marcus' housekeeper appeared on the threshold.

“Our Dominus came back, Auba. I shall bring him to you.”

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

Marcus stood in the same posture before the large window of his private dining room as he had stood there the previous evening when Auba entered the chamber behind Rufus, the hated chain gently swinging from the left side to the right while they walked.

The blond Roman wore only a simple white tunic again, the hems of the linen adorned with thin golden threads. The short clothing accentuated Marcus' well-trained body in a more than appealing way, revealing long and slim elegant legs and perfectly toned arms, the strong muscles of his upper arms shifting slightly as the Roman now folded his arms and turned around to his charges. Auba had noticed that Marcus preferred to wear only little jewelry except for his seal ring, and the belt keeping the tunic in place around his narrow waist was a simple beige leather cord. Marcus' normally perfectly styled red-golden hair looked as if he had carded his fingers through it several times, but it only added to his attractiveness, and Auba felt the well-known and now so hated tingling of desire pooling in his belly.

It was only physical desire of course, nothing more than Auba's understandable reaction to another attractive male, not love. He would never make the mistake of loving a Roman – the enemy – again, and he suppressed his desire with effort and settled his features into a stern mask of defiance and disgust as he met the attentive gaze of the most beautiful amber eyes he had ever seen.

For a long time, they just looked each other in their eyes, and forbidden memories of his dream and their last, passionate night rose to the surface of his consciousness once again, making it hard for Auba to not let his mask and slip and show his former Roman lover and now owner what was hidden underneath it.

“Auba, I'm pleased to see you well-rested. You look much better than yesterday,” Marcus finally broke the thick and heavy silence, his own face as impassive as the face of a marble sculpture. His voice still sounded a little bit horse, but his posture was proud and proved that the impressive Roman had found back to his usual self-control and self-confidence. There were still lines around his eyes, and they were still a little bit red, but Marcus looked considerably better than he had looked the previous evening.

“You too, Marcus,” Auba finally replied, pressing his lips to a thin line. “Are you going to tell me my future duties as your slave now?” The young Syrian didn't care about being punished because of his cheekiness, he had stopped caring about anything after seeing Marcus sitting right next to the emperor and watching him fight for his life.

Marcus sighed. “Among other things, yes, Auba. Sit down.” he pointed at the cushion before one of the four loungers, crossing the room to lay down on the lounger next to it. Auba lifted his chin up, hesitating to obey the order. The blond legatus smirked, cocking his head to the side and making himself comfortable. “Rufus, I would like to eat now,” he told his housekeeper, his eyes fixed on his unwilling new house resident.

“Of course, Dominus, I shall hurry.” Rufus walked over to Marcus' lounger to give him the end of Auba's chain he had still been holding, and when the blond Roman took it, the Celt turned around and left the room without even looking in the Syrian's direction.

Auba swallowed and stared down at Marcus, who had to look up at him due to his lying position. If the young Syrian - having once been a proud prince and equal to Marcus – had thought that Marcus needing to look up at him would grant him any advantage, than he found himself disappointed rather quickly, because Marcus only said: “Sit down, Auba. Don't make me repeat myself.” The voice of the impressive Roman was calm and unmoved, friendly even, but Auba realized that making Marcus become angry by standing near the door for much longer wouldn't get him anywhere, and he consoled himself by snorting knowingly and pointing with his head at the lounger opposite Marcus' recliner.

“Your slaves are of course not allowed to lie down on one of your cozy Roman recliners themselves,” he spat out, hoping that his voice didn't tremble too much.

Marcus smiled at him. “Do you want to lie down on one of such cozy Roman recliners, Auba?” he asked, his voice friendly and curiously instead of offended or annoyed.

Auba snorted again. As if he would ever really want to lie while eating! He had enjoyed teasing Marcus for this weird Roman habit more oftentimes than he could count – back then when they had been lovers instead of enemies – which seemed to be a lifetime ago.

“No, I don't. Syrians sit on cushions on the ground during their meals. I should have known that you would forget that rather quickly. It must have annoyed you that you had to sit during the feasts my father arranged for you,” he snapped without thinking, almost stumbling over his chain when Marcus' smile deepened. “I see. How stupid of me to actually offer you one of my loungers, Auba. You might prefer the cushion I've put on the floor earlier especially for you, then?” His amber eyes gazed up at him, innocently, but Auba could see the golden sparks of amusement dancing around in them.

Auba slumped down on the thick and cozy cushion, awkwardly, because his trembling legs didn't support his weight any longer. He balled his fists and stared at the man he had loved more than his own life and who he hated now with the same force. “I hate you, damn Roman, I hate you so much!” he burst out, new tears welling up in his eyes. He dug his nails into his palms to keep himself from crying, stiffening his back to await Marcus' punishment or cruel laughter with as much dignity as he had left.

The amused golden sparks were replaced by another emotion Auba couldn't really detect as Marcus now regarded him with a serious and thoughtful expression. If the young Syrian hadn't known it better, he would have taken this emotion as self-loathe or regret, but it couldn't be that Marcus had such feelings when it came to him, could it? Why should he care about his feelings? He had caught Tiberius' attention, and Tiberius was an emperor and not only a prince like Auba had been: He now came even below the lowest residents of the proud Roman empire, the poor day laborers, being only a slave and unworthier than a dog or another animal, being nothing more than a house slave. Even being forced into the role of a gladiator had been better and held more honor, although he had had to fight for his poor, unworthy life in the arena. But, Tiberius and Marcus had taken that from him, stripped him of everything than his mere life, and his life depended on Marcus' moods without Auba having any chance to change that. He swallowed, returning the blond Roman's gaze with as much defiance as he could muster.

“Yes, I know, Auba. I wished it would be otherwise, but as things stand, there is nothing I can do against it at the moment, and I understand and respect your feelings. You will obey my orders and do what I'll tell you to do, nevertheless, though.” Marcus finally sighed, his attentive gaze staying on Auba's face, but he went silent when Rufus came back, entering the room after a short knock and Marcus' answering “come in,” carrying a large tray with his meal. “Thank you, Rufus,” he said with a smile when the Celt put the tray on the small table next to his recliner. “I won't need you during the next two hours, you can take a rest. You'll have to stay up longer tonight.”

“Of course, Dominus. I will come back later to see to the necessary clothes for Auba, then.” This time, Rufus did shoot him a quick glance, and Auba returned his gaze with confusion, because the older slave seemed to know something about him Auba himself didn't know.

Silence fell over the room again as Marcus waited until his housekeeper had left them again, and the young Syrian got the impression that the blond legatus did that as a sign that he was considerate of him, because Auba was almost certain that Marcus didn't have any secrets he wanted to hide from the Celt. It was apparent that Rufus was the Roman's confident and that he knew much more about Auba and their shared past than he let show, and Marcus seemed to really trust the red-haired man.

“You must be hungry, Auba. I am sure that they haven't fed you as properly as they should have regarding that you needed all your strength during your fights.” Auba averted his eyes from the closed door to face his owner again. Marcus had taken one of the plates and filled it with bread, cheese and fruits, offering it to him.

“The proud legatus serving his new toy boy? How inappropriate. Or maybe not, you feeding me with your hand could surely be considered as some kind of foreplay to what you want to do with me afterwards.” Auba knew that he was playing with fire, and the unwanted memory of one wonderful warm night in Syria when Marcus had fed him with honey and fruits before making love to him, passionately and tenderly, let his throat go tight with longing and his heart ache for what he had lost a long time ago.

The young gladiator didn't know what he had expected, maybe anger, maybe cruel mockery, but surely not the warm smile that lit up Marcus' face for one short moment. “Would you actually let me feed you, my splendid one? Would you really take food from my hand like you did in Syria?”

Auba was taken aback that Marcus hadn't forgotten this special night, either, somehow, he had thought that the Roman commander had suppressed each thought of him and every memory of their time together the minute he had set his foot on the holy ground of the Roman capital.

“I am not your splendid one any longer, Roman. Plus, you shouldn't try it if you want to keep your fingers,” he growled, embarrassedly, staring at the plate with disgust. He knew that Marcus was right, he needed to eat to regain his full strength, but the iron necklace belonging to his chain seemed to choke him although it was actually loose enough to not do without somebody pulling forcefully at the chain.

“Hm, maybe another time then. Eat, Auba!” Marcus put the plate onto the marble floor before his cushion, taking the other plate to serve himself with some fruits and a slice of bread. He filled two mugs with the slightly perfumed water Rufus had brought together with the food, handing one of it to Auba. The Syrian took it, grateful that he could ease the pain in his throat his unshed tears had caused with the cool liquid. As strange as it was, but it hurt him that Marcus hadn't objected when he had told him that he wasn't his splendid one any longer, and he didn't thank Marcus for the beverage, he simply couldn't bring himself to behave as servilely as he was supposed to behave as a slave without any rights.

“Will you remove this chain, _Dominus?_ I have no place to go, anyway,” he only asked when he had quenched his thirst, emphasizing the formal address Rufus used with so much respect and devotion that it sounded only as the insult the young Syrian had wanted to throw at him.

There was a long silence, and this strange emotion flickered over Marcus' handsome features again. “No, Auba, I won't,” he said, his voice flat and with a hint of hoarseness. He didn't avert his eyes from his face and in the end, it was Auba who had to look away, staring blindly at the wall behind Marcus. He didn't see the beautiful painting showing a peaceful scene in a blooming garden, he only saw Marcus smiling at Tiberius before his mind's eye, allowing to emperor to lay his fleshy hand upon his arm to stroke over the smooth skin.

The skin Auba had stroked that oftentimes with the same lustful expression. “I see,” he said, suppressing a dry retch by the memory of the emperor's greedy look in his cold eyes when he had appraised his young adviser.

Marcus reached out with his hand to touch Auba's shoulder, but the Syrian escaped it by bending to the side. Marcus' hand fell down, and the blond Roman swallowed audibly.

“I am sorry, Auba, but I can't. Tiberius invited me to an intimate party to celebrate the return of Legatus Robertus Levantus, and he ordered me to bring you with me. He wishes to see for himself that I have taught you your place.”


End file.
